


The Remaing Option and Lasting Legacies

by mgsmurf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Other, Post-Season/Series 06, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 73,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgsmurf/pseuds/mgsmurf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the defeat at King's Landing, Jaime Lannister heads North. He doesn't care about who sits on the Iron Throne, but he does care about Westeros still containing the living. If he and house Lannister has one more fight in them, he wants it to be one that counts. Jon Snow and the Starks are not completely sure if they're in for an alliance with the last remaining Lannister. </p><p>Set a year or more post Season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> There will eventually be smut, but a lot of gen too. It's likely to be 20,000 words in before Jaime and Brienne really get together, sorry. This is not all completely written at this moment, but is about a 1/4 written, 2/3rds plotted and I know where it can tie nicely to an end. Total chapters is a guesstimate at the moment. I'll try to keep updates coming timely.
> 
> This version of Jaime is what could happen in the future, he's more sullen and vulgar than what we've seen before. Brienne is more confident and open than completely seen so far. All characters and pairings I know of being in the story is included now. More may be added later.

Jaime's traveled far by the time he and his small army, what can be spared from the remaining Lannister forces, gets to the walls of Winterfell. They'd been spotted days ago, and put up white banners of peace. Still, Jaime rode to the gates with only Bronn and his young squire, one of many Lannister cousins. They'd relinquished their swords and Bronn's knives at the door to the 'throne room'. Bronn chuckled that at least if they decided to kill one of them it was likely to be Jaime. 

Jon Snow, now King of the North, sat in the central chair. He looked much more like Ned Stark than the Young Wolf Robb ever had. Perhaps it was the weariness in his dark Stark eyes. Sansa Stark sat on one side, straight backed and stone faced, her hair blazing red. On the other side sat Arya Stark, short dark hair and piercing eyes. Ser Davos stood to one side, the Onion knight, Hand to Jon and former Hand to Stannis. Behind Sansa, of course, stood Brienne of Tarth, in the blue tinted armor he'd given her, Oathkeeper at her hip. 

Jaime took a deep breath and strolled before them all. He paused a good measure in front of them and gave their hard stares a welcoming grin. “Thank you for welcoming me King Jon Snow – or is it Stark?” Or perhaps Targaryen he left silent. Best to not acknowledge that rumor, because he hoped this King of North who looked a Stark and knew nothing but the North wouldn't hold to Targaryen grudges of him slaying King Aerys.

“Snow,” Jon answered. Honest in what he was, just a like Stark, just like poor dead Ned. “Ser Jaime Lannister, or is it now Lord of Casterly Rock Warden of the Westerlands?”

Jaime shrugged. “Suppose it would be Lord. Or Lord Commander of the remaining Lannister army.” Not that any of it mattered to him. It never had. 

“If you've come to take Winterfell, we won't cede it,” Sansa said. 

“Do you think my force could take Winterfell, especially in a siege?” Jaime shook his head. Cersei had wanted him to retake Winterfell moons ago. Foolish in winter, foolish with so many enemies coming for them. He had won that fight at least, and sent instead a smaller force headed by his cousin Daven to merely threatened the Starks, an empty threat as Cersei was now out of power. 

“No,” Jon said expressionless. 

Jaime gave a half smirk. “I've come for... an alliance.” 

“Why?” Arya glared. Wherever had she returned from? “How many Starks have you killed?”

“Killed myself?” Jaime tilted his head. “Not a one.” There was the one he'd attempted to kill, but best to leave that unspoken. “But, I know our houses have been fierce enemies. I know... the Starks have not fared well in such, by the actions of my family.”

“The Dragon Queen has come and you've lost King's Landing,” Ser Davos spoke up. 

“True.” It'd been the fiercest battles of his life and a hard loss in the end. “Did Cersei ever have much chance of holding King's Landing or even the Red Keep against all the enemies she'd made, even with the Lannister army?” He shrugged and felt suddenly old and weary and done with all the fighting. 

“So you're running North t' escape gettin' your head separated from your shoulders,” Davos continued. There was Flea Bottom in his accent and wisdom in his words. 

“If I'm lucky the Dragon Queen will behead me. If I'm not she'll roast me with a dragon.” He scrunched his face in disgust. “But, it's a debt I've escaped from paying for over two decades, I've made peace with paying it.” He shrugged. 

“Then why are you here?” Jon asked. Those dark eyes could very well be Lyanna's. 

Jaime tightened his lips. In the corner of his vision he caught Brienne shift to cock her head at him. He glanced at the Stark women. Taking a step closer, he looked only Jon Snow in the eye. 

“The only thing my father cared about was his Lannister Legacy. So, I've come to see what I can salvage of my house after the damaged my sister's actions have taken. Tywin Lannister was a scrupulous asshole that people feared, and I certainly didn't like the man. But, he was my father, and I can't fail him yet again.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at that. “So why House Stark?” 

Jaime tilted his head. “Lannister needs allies. Who else? I won't grovel to the Tyrell's, even if Olena would allow it. They killed my son. The Dornish? Are being run by the Sand Snakes who killed my beautiful daughter. So fuck them. The Dragon Queen, as mentioned, wants my head. The Baratheons are gone. So are all the good Tullys, at least the ones with the name. Fuck the Freys. And they're still fighting over which son gets to be the new lord of the Twins. Yara Greyjoy likely still has a grudge over her brothers, and I'm done fighting for unforgiving women. And the Vale... is ruled by Balish, who killed my son and gave my sister to the High Sparrow.” 

And there he'd laid out more than he'd have liked. The truth to his children he'd spent a previous lifetime keeping a secret. His personal thoughts and grievances against the major houses. Truth was he liked the Starks more than most. And at least they fought with honor, more so than he knew of any of the others. 

“So you've pissed off every other house in the realm as well,” Jon stated. 

Jaime almost laughed because he wasn't sure if he wanted the Stark honesty or not. He shrugged. “I don't want the Iron Throne. I don't want the North.”

“What do you want?” Sansa asked. Those Tully blue eyes of hers accessed him. 

“Vengeance against my enemies. A good fight.” He shrugged again. “Something right to fight for.” If the stories coming from the North were true this was the important fight. “I hear you need all the help you can get against the threat beyond the Wall. I don't give a shit about who sits on the fucking throne, but I care about Westeros still containing the living.” 

Jon tightened his lips at that although his eyes warmed a bit. All the Starks and the North knew which was the important fight as well. And that was a large part of his choice. If he had a fight left in him, left in House Lannister, he wanted to make it count. 

Jaime took a step closer and looked at all three Starks in turn. “The question is not what I ask, but what I bring you?”

“Which is?” Sansa rose an eyebrow. Arya continued to glare. Jon pinched his lips in thought. 

“A thousand men is not a lot, true,” Jaime continued. “But, they're battle tested, well armed, disciplined men in their prime unlike the old men and boys you have.” That at least had gotten Jon's attention. 

“Gold.” Jaime turned to Sansa. “The Lannister coffers run thin, but we still have gold, more than the North. Gold for arms, men, food.” Sansa tilted her head at that. 

“Ships from Lannisport to get food and supplies to you,” he continued. “Then you don't have to make sure the neck and Moat Calin stay open.” Jon tilted his head at that. “Ships as well to bring supplies from beyond Westeros. Because we all know winter will be long, the longest a living man has seen.”

“You think you can just buy our alliance?” Arya said.

“I am a Lannister after all.” Jaime smiled at her. He waved his gold hand to call forward the squire on his right. The boy struggled with the crate he'd brought in. He set it before Jon and opened the lid. “Dragon glass, all I could find in King's Landing. I hear it's of use against the threat from beyond the Wall.”

Jon leaned forward to see the gleam off the mass of black stones. His face was emotionless, but he was in. Jaime had offered enough. Still Jaime'd already had a mind to give the last gift, and Sansa and Arya were not yet persuaded. 

Jaime sighed and motioned to Bronn. The man handed him a long wrapped package. Jaime stepped forward while working off the fabric, revealing the sheath and belt of a bastard sword. One handed he gave it to Jon. 

“Window's Wail brought from King's Landing, a gift from Tywin to King Joffrey on his wedding day.” Jaime stepped back, at least out of range of the given sword. 

Jon unsheathed it, studied the steel and the ornate lion hilt. “Valyrian steel.”

“Where did the Lannisters get a Valyrian blade?” asked Davos.

Jaime gave a half smile. Someone had paid attention to the stories, knew the Lannister Valyrian blade had been lost long ago. “Reforged from Ice.” He narrowed his eyes, muscles tensed. “Not my doing,” Jaime continued after the frowns given by the three Starks. 

“I'd like it just loaned.” Jaime said. “Given back if I ever do have a son to pass it to.” Although he had no wife, or desire for a wife, so the possibility of another son, this one legitimate, was thin. “But it's a useful weapon against your threat, so find a man who can wield it... because I can not.” He lifted his gold hand. It was a hand and a half sword and he had only one hand. 

Jon hefted the sword, swung it in an arch. “Ice was much larger than this.”

“Ice was reforged into two swords,” Jaime said. “The other, Oathkeeper, was given as a gift to Lady Brienne.” Jaime made sure to not make eye contact with her. He'd given her his sword, and so much more with it.

Jon looked over his shoulder at Brienne, at the lion hilt on her sword. He had already guessed as much. “You've made a pretty dowry, Lannister,” Jon said. 

Jaime chuckled. “I'd throw in myself as well if that'd help. I am still a pretty man.” He gave a wide charming smile, mainly to Jon. The King of the North almost rolled his eyes at the suggestion. Sansa frowned and Arya glared. 

“Close your mouth while you're still ahead, Jaime,” Brienne spoke for the first time. 

Jaime dropped his smile. No Ser or Lord, just Jaime, why did his heart sped up at that? He gave a half bow and kept his mouth closed. 

“We have to discuss this,” Sansa said. 

“'Course you do,” Bronn answered for him. Jaime had Jon and likely Sansa, two out of three would hopefully do. 

Sansa glanced at Brienne who nodded her head. Brienne crossed the room and said simply, “Outside.”

Bronn smiled up at her. “Love it when women order me 'round.” Brienne almost rolled her eyes and Jaime frowned. They turned though and let her led them back out of the great hall. “Pick 'em strong-willed don't you, Lord Commander,” Bronn added. 

Brienne tightened her mouth and gave the sellsword a menacing look. 

“Not even a hello, Brienne,” Jaime said, now that they weren't someplace so formal. 

“So you're not dead,” she replied. 

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “Were there tales of my death?” 

“There was word the Lannister army had been destroyed.” Brienne kept her face solid but emotion shown in her blue eyes. 

“Red Keep's full o' means o' escape,” Bronn answered. He plopped down in a chair in the hallway and propped up a leg on the chair's arm. 

“So the Lannister army was not all destroyed.” Jaime tried to stand a bit more casual and wondered where his usual charm had gone. 

“After what... your sister did.” Brienne shook her head. 

“I had no part in that.” 

“Of course.” Brienne nodded. “Wildfire is the last weapon you would use,” she softly said. “Perhaps even then you would not.”

“I thought of bringing a pryomancer.” Jaime shrugged. Brienne alone knew why Cersei's actions bothered him so much. He had saved the city from the Mad King yet not his mad sister. “It seemed a useful weapons against the – Army of the Dead, White Walkers, what exactly are they calling them? – but, I really do hate the stuff.”

“The Night King is what the enemy's leader is called,” Brienne asked. “They are called the White Walkers, or the Others, an old term mainly used by the Free Folk, the Wildlings.” 

“Look a' you soundin' like a Northerner.” Bronn smiled. 

“I am no Northerner, Ser Bronn.” Brienne held her head up high. 

“Lord Bronn now, of Tarbeck Hall.” Bronn gave a wide smile still lounged in the chair and looking very much not lordly. “Married too.”

Brienne looked over at Jaime, clearly realizing both were payment. 

“A Lannister cousin of mine.” Jaime shrugged. “She needed a husband and Bronn needed... a fiery highborn woman.”

“I am glad to hear of your lands, marriage and happiness, Lord Bronn.” Brienne gave a bow. 

Bronn chuckled at her formality. “Was mainly my cock that 'as happy, 'til we parted ways.”

Brienne balked a bit at that. She turned her attention from Bronn back to Jaime. “And Cersei?” Brienne asked, her voice almost timid. 

“Captured, I hear.” Jaime frowned. “She'll be executed by either dragon or wildfire. Why does it bother me so she'll die by fire?” He scrunched up his face, because it really did bother him she'd be killed so horribly, even if she more than anyone save the Mad King deserved such an end. 

“Because she is your sister and your... lover.” Brienne frowned. 

Was my lover, Jaime wanted to answer. But then the door to the great hall reopened. “They've come to a decision,” Ser Davos said. 

They re-entered the hall. “Based on one last question though,” Davos continued. He now stayed standing next to Jaime. 

Jaime cocked his head. 

“Where does your sympathy with your sister, the Queen Regent, lay?” Jon asked. He stood now. His clothing was still all in black, although finer leathers than likely the Night's Watch was given. 

“She's being held by the Dragon Queen, sure to be sentenced and executed soon,” Jaime answered. 

“Yes, but your sympathy?” Davos asked again. 

“She's my twin sister. She was my lover for most of my life.” Jaime still couldn't drag out the answer they wanted. 

“So you'd side with her?” Arya asked. “You defended King's Landing for her.”

Jaime pinched together his lips. The Starks loved their siblings, even Jon the bastard, how could they understand? 

“She drove my son, my only remaining child, to his death.” Jaime sneered. “She burned hundreds alive. I will love Cersei for the rest of my life, but I...” His heart pounded. Could he actually voice this? “I hold no sympathy with her.”

“And this isn't just a game that you play against us?” Sansa asked. 

“Do you think I'm so good at deception?” He'd just laid himself out, more honesty than he'd intended and Sansa thought he could lie well enough to play games with them? Jaime outright laughed then.


	2. A More Proper Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime manage a more proper re-introduction to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response to this. Nice to know there are people interesting in reading this longer piece of work.

Perhaps Brienne should have been more welcoming to Jaime, but what was she to have done, jumped into his arms for a hug, kissed him as she'd wished so many times before? Neither seemed appropriate. It took little effort to find Jaime. Winterfell was not all that large of a place. He was with the Lannister force, getting them settled into the empty portion of the keep's garrison. He commanded one after another solider in tasks such as putting horses in stables, storing away supplies, and making up quarters for sleeping.

As he had earlier, he wore his red and black plate armor trimmed in gold and lions over his black leather jerkin. Likely under was a layer of wool to keep him warm. A few flurries of snow fell, and the air was crisp and chill. Brienne was not sure she would ever truly get used to winter in the North. Over his armor was a red cloak the neck trimmed with black fur and the underneath black fur lined as well. He wore a glove on only his left hand, his gold one bare. It still always surprised her to see him dressed in finery. He wore them well as if born to them, although in her mind he was always in rags and simple clothing, always. 

He'd further aged in the past year. His short beard was almost half gray and gray peppered his short hair, darkened from lack of sun. Extra wrinkles had formed at the edges of his eyes. Cuts healed on his face. He gave her a warm, wide smile as she approached. 

“Here on an errand for Lady Sansa?” He tilted his head. 

“No. I am here to talk to you.” She glanced around at the order of his men. He was right the North could use these men, trained and tested soldiers. “If you have a moment... Jaime.” 

Jaime gave a half smile. He turned to one of his captains, a slightly older man with gray hair, and gave some last commands. 

“Aye, Lord Commander,” the captain said, a smirk almost on his face. 

Jaime cast him a glaring look, but the man kept smirking. It was not until they had turned away and Brienne had led them away that Jaime frowned. 

“What did you want to talk about Brienne?” 

“If you thought I was too... short with you earlier...” She did not think about where she was going to get more privacy until she found herself headed towards the godswood. It had been partially burned by the Iron Born or Boltons, but mostly stood still. The white bark of the weirwood trees blended with the snow covered ground. The bright red leaves some of the only color left in nature it seemed. 

“Our conversation was cut short.” Jaime paused and looked at the large face carved into the largest of the trees. “Odd place to take us to talk.”

“Have you been here before?” She knew he had visited Winterfell before, with King Robert, when he'd crippled Bran. 

“The godswood?” He shook his head. “No. Didn't think you a worshiper of the Old Gods.”

“I'm not. I still hold to the New.” Truth was she wasn't sure why she'd come here. Before that tree was where Sansa had married Ramsey Bolton. 

“Might creepy.” Jaime stepped closer to the face. “They have a sept in Winterfell, right? Ned build Catelyn one.”

“They had one. It has not been rebuilt,” Brienne answered. Jon believed in the Old Gods as most of the Northerners did. Sansa seemed to believe in no gods at all anymore, not that Brienne blamed her. “You don't hold much to gods though.” Although she knew he favored the New.

“Considering how the Lannisters have wronged the Gods I've been trying to make amends,” Jaime said. The Lannisters, but really just Cersei. It was not just the people but the central building of the faith his sister had destroyed. “Perhaps I should give the money to rebuild the sept, you at least would use it, and some of my men.” 

Brienn gave a nod. 

“I've word of your father, Lord Selwyn,” Jaime said. 

“Yes.” Brienne tilted her head and tried to still her racing heart. She knew that Tarth, with the Stormlands, had been taken by the Dragon Queen before King's Landing. She had gotten only one raven, saying her father and Tarth were safe, nothing more. 

“He's well.” Jaime nodded. “He swore for the Dragon Queen, to protect Tarth. Besides being against Cersei made sense, did it not.”

“I had heard he was well.” Brienne let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. 

“I saw a few ships that bore the sigil of Tarth when the Dragon Queen's forces attacked King's Landing.” Jaime shrugged. “I heard Lord Selwyn himself headed the small force that had joined from your home.” Brienne frowned. Her father was once a good swordsman, but that was a long time ago. “There was a list of fallen lords made after, don't ask how or why I would have seen it,” he waved his hand to dismiss that, “but I do know your father was not on it.” 

“He is not the man to play at games with queens.” Brienne tightened her lips.

“If he is anything like you, I'm sure he'd be rubbish at such.” He smirked. “But, would he send men from Tarth without him?”

Brienne shook her head. “No.” Not unless perhaps she would have been there to command them herself in his stead. “Thank you for sharing what you do know, Jaime.” 

Silence spanned between them. This was not at all what Brienne wished for. She had so much to tell him but was uncertain how to start, so much had passed since they had really talked. Since he had sent her on her mission in King's Landing, for they barely talked at the siege of Riverrun before arguing silly politics. 

Jaime sat on a log beside the frozen pond before the great weirwood tree. “It's been years now since the Riverlands, the first time we were there, yet most days it feels like only yesterday.” There was a weariness to him she had not heard earlier. 

Brienne sighed. “Yes.” It had been a trying time in his life, an eye opening one in hers, and their resulting connection remained one of the most intimate of her life. 

“I've missed you, Brienne.” He gave a wane smile. “That stupid stubborn honor of yours, your sparse words, your brilliant blue eyes, even that scowl that never makes your face prettier.”

“I have missed you too.” And she had, his easy manner, the way he used honest stories to his advantage, his rare version of right and wrong, even that quick tongue he could never quiet. “But, I am not the same woman you knew then.” She was harder in same ways, having lost some of the wonder of being a knight, and softer in others, because the world was made of in betweens she had not seen then. She held more confidence as well, in her abilities as a warrior, in herself as a woman. She was not the maid he had left long ago, done with the title she'd asked Tormund to help rid her of it. 

“Of course.” He nodded. “So am I. More weary, more lost, more free, more sad some days.” He shrugged. “Whenever I come to a choice I find myself thinking what would Brienne think is the honorable option. I can't say I've always taken it, I've still got shit for honor, but I try.”

She scoffed at that and it drew his eyes to her, dark blue in his no longer sun kissed face. “Whenever I come to a decision, I think how the right answer could be thought of as wrong and the wrong as right. I often still pick the right, but know how one might see it otherwise.”

That gave him a chuckle. 

“They don't trust you,” Brienne said. 

“Snow and the Starks?” Jaime gave a weary smile. “They shouldn't trust me, even if I do mean them no harm. I never expected their trust.”

She nodded and tightened her lips. She had not thought about how he might view it as such. She wondered what subject was not politics they were still on the opposite side of? Instead they sat for a time in silence. 

“Do you know how many times I promised to destroy everything but me and Cersei for her? How many times even those months before... the explosion I said fuck everyone, that we were all that mattered?” Jaime's voice was soft. He looked at the edges of the frozen pond. “As many times as I asked her to marry me I imagine. Just words, words I could never give her.” He let out a deep sigh. “I never meant for her to act on them, never.”

What was Brienne to say to that? Cersei's actions were horrible. She should be beheaded for them, roasted by one of the new Queen's dragons. Having no words, Brienne instead reached out her hand and took his. Jaime's gaze shifted to the joining of their gloved hands. 

“Sometimes I think I should have run away with you, when you left to search for Sansa.” He gave her a half smile. 

“You could not have left your family, Jaime.” Brienne frowned. “I would not have asked that of you.”

“Yes.” Jaime shrugged. “But what good did I do any of them? I did not save a one of them, save Tryion who I wish to kill myself.” He shook his head. “I made no difference by staying. Except perhaps to have steeled Cersei to her actions.”

Brienne clenched his hand and found her thumb rubbing against his palm. Perhaps the leather of both their gloves between their skin made her braver with her touches. She had not thought of all that he had lost. All of his children, his father, his uncle and cousin, soon to be Cersei, and his brother out of contact. 

“You have no guilt in Cersei's actions, you know that right?” Brienne asked. 

Jaime scoffed. “Whether I do or don't, should I have not seen the depths of destruction in her heart? I have always known her almost as well as myself.”

“She changed as well,” Brienne stated. Although she had her doubts if Jaime ever actually knew his sister as well as he thought. 

They sat again in silence. A few remaining birds chirped in the trees above. Brienne shivered from the cold. At least the sun had returned. Some of the snow and ice warmed and melted in its wane heat. 

“No one asked earlier, but what of Casterly Rock?” Brienne asked. “Is it not now yours?”

“I suppose.” Jaime shrugged. “Casterly Rock is well fortified with the mass of the Lannister troops. My cousin Daven has control of it, and a good military mind to keep it save.” He paused for a moment and turned her hand so that his fingers rubbed her palm. “I... I couldn't bring myself to go there. Everything there would remind me of Cersei, of Tyrion, of my father, of my childhood, everything I no longer have and what a fool I have been.”

He turned to her and smiled. “Besides, they do need men of experience here, right?” 

“You will be useful, yes.” Brienne pinched her lips. 

“Do you get used to this cold?” Jaime shivered and shrugged into his cloak further. 

Brienne smiled and shook her head. “I have not yet. I only remember a few other winters and there were much milder on Tarth.”

“Casterly Rock gets snow and cold, but nothing like what I went through to get here.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and blew warm air onto her fingers, which felt good as they'd started to chill. Surely her cheeks and nose were rosy by now as well. “And this is only a start.” He sighed and scooted closer to her on the log they shared. She could feel his heat against her side and wondered when they had been as close since returning from the Riverlands. 

“The Northerners talk of winters where the days eventually lacked any daylight, of snow piles deeper than men and walls, roads impassable, the countryside clustered into the limited warmth and security of the walls of Winterfell and the other great keeps.” Brienne frowned. “Jon talks of Night's Watch men trapped north of the Wall eating their dead companions to survive. And perhaps I should not mention what I have heard from some of the Free Folk.”

“You're going to make me regret choosing this over Casterly Rock.” Jaime chuckled. 

Brienne turned to him and he was smiling, his blue eyes alight with his laughter. She smiled back. Then, Jaime wrapped his hand around her waist and shifted her closer. He dipped his head until their noses almost touched. Their breathes frosted between them. Brienne knew what he meant to do, and once she would have shied away from it. Now, instead, she reached up a hand and touched his cold reddened cheek. They tilted their heads and their lips met. 

At first the kiss was chaste, gentle, more than Brienne had imagined Jaime would be. For they had not ever done this before, despite how important they were to each other. Jaime's tongue teased apart her lips. Brienne angled her head better, her nails dug into the furs at his neck. He shifted closer still. His other arm wrapped around her and his hand slid up her back. She found herself moaning as passion rose in her belly and her heart raced. She wondered how much she would fight if he laid her on the snow and took her here. 

It was Brienne who pulled away. She might have played this moment in her head so many times, but she was not certain yet if she wanted it, wanted him fully like that. It had been so long, and as they had both said, they were not the same people who parted ways years ago. 

Jaime shifted a bit away, his hands falling from her waist. “Not in the godswood?” he asked. 

“Not yet,” she replied. “And I thought you meant to treat the Gods kinder.”

“I've fucked in a sept, but not a godswood.” He lifted an eyebrow. Brienne tightened her lips at his following smirk and rose back to her feet. “Still not much of a sense of humor, dear lady.” Jaime chuckled as he rose as well. 

They made their way back to the keep, melting snow slushy under their boots. At the garrison they parted way. 

“Lady Sansa and King Jon wish you to dine with them,” Brienne said. 

“Been told. Sure it will be a joy.” He scrunched up his face and then replaced it with a charming smile. 

“Behave,” she said. “And watch your tongue.”

“If only I had control over my tongue, dear Brienne, how would my life be different.” He chuckled. When she kept her scolding face, he relented enough to give a small bow. “But, I will try. For you, Brienne, I will try.”


	3. Dinner, Secrets and Strategies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Jon invites his newest guest to dinner, where Jaime partly behaves. The next day they talk about Targaryens and strategy.

Lord Jaime Lannister showed up to dinner exactly as Jon thought he would, partly unkempt and yet still looking stunningly beautiful, despite his aging face, missing hand and shit for honor. Jon still wasn't sure if he wanted the Kingslayer for an ally but they needed all the men they could gather for the war with the Others and Lannister brought not only men but experienced men in their prime. 

Lannister gave Jon a wide smile as he crossed the room. “King Snow.” Lannister gave a small bow of his head. 

Jon's returning smile was tight. “Lord Lannister.” It only made the Kingslayer smile wider. Arya wished the man dead, although Sansa thought he could be of use. 'Ultimately he's a follower, Jon,' Sansa had said, 'so led him. Because he's also a man of war, and we need that.'

Brienne was behind Jon then, having strolled forward from where she stood with Sansa. “Jaime,” she spoke but one word, but her eyes met the Kingslayer's and her head tilted. 

The Kingslayer gave her an exasperated look, his lips tight and a slight shake of his head. “Yes, yes, Brienne.”

Jon made sure not to glance between them, but they were certainly unduly familiar. He had once heard Lady Brienne called Kingslayer's Whore, although he thought her honor better than that. Tormund who had supposedly bed Lady Brienne, claimed she had been a maid. Still, there was clearly something deep between the two. 

Lannister caught Jon's curiosity and smirked at him for it. Jon wondered how long he could suffer the Kingslayer's cocky smiles before he couldn't resist punching one off his face. 

Tormund came up to Jon's other side. “So this is the Kingslayer?” Lannister turned and looked up at the large Free Folk. 

“Tormund Giantsbane,” Jon introduced, “Lord Jaime Lannister.”

“A Wildling?” Lannister asked, not that the usual disdain rang in his voice. 

“Aye.” Tormund stood taller and broader than Lannister. “Which king of the south again did you slay? I expected you to be... bigger.”

“Most do.” Lannister smiled. “And there have been so many kings in the last years. I, however, killed the Mad King, last of the Targaryen kings. If Snow is truly a dragon, his grandfather.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, because right there was a truth he had not asked earlier. If the Dragon Queen, Jon's aunt, wanted the Kingslayer's head, why would Jon not want the same? However, he did not. He knew the stories of the Mad King, knew someone was going to have killed him. 

The Kingslayer made to open his mouth and speak again, but a sharp look from Brienne paused him. He gave a sullen look and tightened his mouth closed again. 

“Already lettin' his mouth run away?” Bronn, Lannister's man-at-arms and possibly his top adviser, came up behind Lannister with two cups of ale. “Ale?” he asked, not waiting for a reply before handing one to the other man. 

“Lord Bronn of Tarbeck Hall,” the Kingslayer introduced. Bronn looked every bit the sellsword he had once been. He wore only light armor. His rough face held scars and a much broken nose. His pale blue eyes were sharp, his hair thinning wisps of black and gray. 

“Of Tarbeck Hall near Castamere?” Sansa asked, head cocked. Jon hadn't recognized Tarbeck Hall but Castamere he did. 

The Kingslayer merely nodded and looked Sansa in the eyes. “Not so worried 'bout the past o' the place,” Bronn answered instead. “You wouldn't take my head for betrayin' you, would ya?” he asked Lannister. 

“No. I'd strip you of your lands, title and likely wife, but... you could keep your head.” The Kingslayer smirked. 

“Have t' be a good offer to betray ya then, wouldn't it?” Bronn chuckled. 

“I don't get it.” Tormund's voice boomed. 

Sansa frowned and didn't look like she wanted to explain the background. Jon figured he'd likely get too many of the details wrong. 

Lannister gave a smile and answered. “House Tarbeck and House Reyne of Castamere were Lannister liege lords who overused my grandfather Tytos' kindness and generosity. As a young man, my father Tywin had their allies and every member of their houses killed, their keeps burned, and their lands left in ruins. As the song the Rains of Castamere goes.” This was Lannister's trusted man, bought by ruins of lands from his father's wrath? 

“What Walder Frey played at the Red Wedding,” Sansa added. Jon knew that surely Lady Catelyn would have caught on to the betrayal then. 

Tormund laughed. Because while he didn't understand why it was such a betrayal, he had heard from them who was behind the Red Wedding. Tywin Lannister's way of defeating Robb because he could not do it on the battlefield. “Your father was a shit, wasn't he?” Tormund said. 

The Kingslayer laughed at that, which drew Tormund back in surprise. “Yeah, quite,” Lannister answered. 

“We should eat,” Lord Davos said. 

They all sat down at the long family style table. The table that Jon himself had not often been invited to as a child. Now he sat at the head, surrounded by most people not of his blood along with his two half... cousins. He wondered when he'd get used to using proper terms for them. The food was some of the better they had to offer. Sansa's thinking was that it would press upon the Kingslayer times were still good at Winterfell. 

Arya glared at the Kingslayer who returned her a wide smile. 

“I could kill you in your sleep,” she softly said. 

The Kingslayer kept smiling. “You could, but why? An aging, one-handed crippled knight, with almost no family left, no heirs, and from a declining and hated house.” Arya continued to glare. Brienne loudly cleared her throat. Lannister looked at her and frowned. He clenched his teeth closed, hard enough his jaw twitched, but said no more to antagonize Arya further. 

They ate in silence for a time, save Davos giving Jon a few details about the troops and keep he'd attended to in the day. Brienne a few comments on training she was doing with newer and younger men who had come to join. 

Lannister took a moment to move all his utensils and cup to his left side. His right gold hand sat useless on the table. Tormund had sat to Lannister's right and he stared intently at the ornate gold plated hand. Lannister glanced at the Free Folk once, before turning to his own meal, ignoring the rest of the interest shown him. Bronn and Davos were trading stories on where they'd come from in Flea Bottom, mentioning names of streets that Jon didn't know or care about. 

Tormund ate his meal as usual, by his hands and with no neatness as to how he tore at the roast meat given them. The Kingslayer gave him a good look and chuckled. That drew the table's attention. Brienne cleared her throat. Tormund glared warningly at the Kingslayer. He in return used his fork to spear through his roast and raised it to his mouth to tear a piece off with as much grace as Tormund ate. Juice dribbled into the Kingslayer's thin graying beard. 

Tormund paused in eating, drank a deep swallow of his ale, and clanked the tankard against Lannister's gold hand. “Not any use to eat proper, in the southern style?” 

“Sadly, no.” The Kingslayer raised his gold hand and turned it slightly palm out. Besides passing as a hand it seemed unable to do anything else of use. 

“The two young kings in the south were both your sons? How?” Tormund asked, as if it had just crossed his mind that such did not follow the rules of kings. “You weren't king, and you're not dead.”

Davos opened his mouth to explain, but the Kingslayer spoke first, “I fucked my sister.” Jon blinked at that, the crudeness of the truth the Kingslayer had just said. What the kingdoms knew and whispered laid out and hanging in the silence of the table. True, the Kingslayer had claimed Cersei's children as his earlier, but not as vulgarly.

“My sister, Queen Cersei,” the Kingslayer continued, “was married to King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. I was her lover since we were almost still children, and remained her lover after she married. All three of her children that lived were fathered by me.”

“You fucked babes into your sister and let them live?” Tormund drew back. The deepest disgust Jon had ever seen crossed the large man's features. 

“You don't do kings or properly marry wives, but incest you don't abide?” Lannister's face scrunched up in anger, his voice rose. 

“You don't fuck close family, and you don't let what results survive, or the Gods will avenge you for having wronged them.” Tormund spoke with a harsh voice, a searing look on his face. Jon imagined newborn babes left to the cold to die. 

The Kingslayer's face hardened as he stared down the larger Tormund. Perhaps he thought the same, of children like his own hated and left to die. Jon was glad neither man was armed. The Kingslayer lowered his eyes, swallowed, then lifted his eyes back to Tormund. 

“Do you think I had any control over who I loved?” Lannister asked. “Do you think I care what you or anyone else thinks about what I did because of that love? The children who were never really mine are all dead. My sister will be dead soon too. Sin or not, hasn't it been paid?” 

Jon looked across the table to Sansa and Arya, his cousins and blood, raised as his sisters, the last of the Starks. He hadn't thought about how Jaime Lannister had no family left. He'd bought his man-at-arms with lands. He had no close family to back him, to support him, to love him. 

“Your younger sister?” Tormund asked, and his voice held less disgust than before. Of course, Tormund wouldn't know. The Lannisters were twins, all the realm knew that. 

“Older,” the Kingslayer said. “I followed Cersei into the world by eight minutes.” 

Tormund cocked his head. “You're a twin?”

“Yes.” Again a blunt answer to a question Lannister may never have had to answer before. 

“The Gods gifted you by being living twins, and you... defiled them with incest?” Tormund shook his head. 

“I don't believe in your gods.” The Kingslayer's face and voice was flat and emotionless. “I don't believe in my gods either really. If there's anything beyond death than darkness I'm sure to suffer through seven layers of hell, and for much more sins than just those with my sister.” He shrugged. 

Tormund narrowed his eyes. Arya's glare may have lightened. Sansa gave a slight frown. Jon himself tried to keep his features solid. What did he really care about this man and his sins against the gods? Lannister was right, his children were dead so what did it matter they had been bastards by incest?

“Jaime, you don't really believe that?” Brienne was the one to speak, soft and familiar to the Kingslayer. 

He gave her a wane smile and shrugged. “The Gods haven't been kind to me, but I certainly haven't been kind back.” Everyone sat in silence for a bit. “Certainly someone has a better subject than my inevitable damnation,” the Kingslayer said. 

Davos saved them with the regaling tale of Stannis cutting off his fingers, one perhaps they had all heard before. Bronn mentioned having once been North of the Wall and fucking a Free Folk, drawing disbelief by Tormund. If the Kingslayer had any happier tales to tell, he did not share them. He sat sullen for the rest of the meal, almost looking a trapped lion by the end. Jon would not have thought much of it, except for the worry in Lady Brienne's eyes. She thought the Kingslayer's actions odd, not that she spoke why. 

#

Jon had not quite decided what to do with the Lannister troops, or the Kingslayer himself. Late morning found him in his solar, once Ned Stark's solar, gazing down at the map of the North and the placemarkers of what limited troops they had. Not enough to fight the Others and not enough to fight an invasion from the new Queen Darnerys either, certainly not enough to do both. 

“Your Grace, are you busy?” Ser Davos peeked his head in the doorway. 

“No.” Jon shook his head and backed away from the table and map. 

“Just showing... Lord Lannister around. If you have a moment?”

“Lord Lannister.” Jaime Lannister chuckled as he entered. “You could just call me Kingslayer as the rest of the realm prefers, Ser Davos.”

“You don't like the term though, do you, ser?” Davos tilted his head. 

Lannister narrowed his eyes. “No one else cares that.” Instead of speaking more he crossed to the map. His real hand tapped on his gold hand, before he leaned down, propped up by his bent gold hand. 

“Do you know the house sigils of the North?” Davos asked the Kingslayer. 

“I'm familiar enough.” He nodded. 

Davos had told Jon not to think the Kingslayer was an arrogant fool. That the man was smarter and more learned than he may let on. 

“May I ask you something, Lannister?” the question was out of Jon's mouth before he could take it back. 

Jon himself knew only of the Targaryens from stories, mostly of their evil deeds. Here was a man who had known the Targaryens in person, had none his father Rhaegar. 

The Kingslayer did not look up from the map. “You don't have to ask me if you can ask... your Grace. Just ask. You're a king, boy, act like it.” He lifted his eyes to Jon then. 

Davos glanced between them. The Kingslayer had certainly outspoken his position. That arrogant style of his was not what would sway the lords of the North, it would never work with the Free Folk, but it was the way of the houses of the South. Jon realized he could use to learn a bit of that from this man. 

“So you have heard I... may be the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen?” Jon asked. 

“I have. You have proof of such?” Lannister cocked his head. 

“Howland Reed came in person to pledge fealty,” Jon said. “He is the lone living person there when Lyanna Stark died. He claims it to be the truth. Lyanna died birthing a son, me, and asked Ned to keep the babe safe. Ned claimed me as his bastard to do so.”

“He never told you.” The Kingslayer raised his eyebrows with the statement, not question. 

Jon shook his head. “No, he did not. Nor Benjen his brother. Nor even Lady Catelyn, his dear wife.”

“Honest Ned Stark kept that until his death.” The Kingslayer shook his head and scrunched up his face. “Who would have thought it of the man, honorable Ned Stark, keeping the realm's best secret.”

“Did you ever hear of it?” Jon asked. 

The Kingslayer widened his eyes and his face and shook his head. “No.” Jon couldn't see Lannister being a good enough actor to have faked that. “I spent most of Robert's Rebellion trapped by King Aerys in King's Landing, without chains but a prisoner still. I much preferred the chains of Robb.” He sneered at that. “But, no I know nothing about Rhaegar or Lyanna, or a possible joining or a child.” 

Davos stepped closer. “Would Ned Stark have kept such a secret from his own lady wife though?” Davos cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “It's said he dearly loved Lady Catelyn.”

“He did.” The Kingslayer nodded. “But, the secret would not have been kept had he told Catelyn.” He squinted up his eyes. “Catelyn was an honest woman, not a woman who could have played a part. Not a woman who would have forgave Ned for such an indiscretion. She would have, and did I'm sure, hate Ned's bastard.” Here Lannister paused and gave Jon a knowing look. Jon made sure to keep his face solid. He knew first hand the hatred Lady Catelyn had for him his entire life. 

“Now, Ned's nephew,” Lannister said, tilting his head, “she would have loved, as Ned did. And Robert knew her well enough to know this. The only way for Ned to keep such a secret would be to not tell the woman he loved, to have her hate his... sister's child he'd taken as his.”

The Kingslayer shook his head again. “Who knew honest Ned was such a skilled liar. How that must have eaten him up. The mistreatment of his sister's child for its own safety.” Lannister gave Jon another long look. “No wonder Ned Stark always had that gloomy look. And here I thought it was just the way Starks look.” He shrugged, just the hint of a cocky grin on his lips. 

“Would King Robert have really killed me had he found out?” Jon asked. Howland Reed had stressed that, that the lie was told and kept for Jon's safety. 

“Yes.” Lannister nodded. “Robert was a jealous man. Did you not meet him?”

“Slightly.” Jon shook his head. He hadn't been invited or allowed to almost any of that visit. Lady Catelyn had insisted he remain unseen. 

“Robert loved no woman but Lyanna, and no man but him could have her, willingly or not,” Lannister said. “However you were created, in love or rape, Robert would have cleaved you in two. He killed every last Targaryen he could get his hands on. Those not already killed by my father's orders at least. If you are half Targaryen, the half that belonged to his beloved Lyanna would not be enough to stay Robert's wrath.” Jon knew this, knew all the Targaryens in the capitol had been killed even his infant half brother. 

“Ned Stark on the other hand,” Lannister continued. “The Starks love their family. Even if you were created by rape, even if you were half Targaryn, a house that he loathed, Ned would have loved you. You were blood of his blood, the last remaining piece of his beloved sister.”

Jon didn't know what to say to that. Such different takes and views on how to treat an innocent child. He didn't know enough of King Robert to know that part true. But, the part about Ned was true. In all this never had Jon doubted that Ned had loved him, whatever their true relation. It had been a hard decision Ned had been forced to make, his sister over his wife, his best friend over his innocent infant nephew. And he'd been not much older than Jon himself.

“Rape or love?” Jon surprised himself by asking.

The Kingslayer tilted his head. “A good question.” He narrowed his eyes. “The Targaryns were not opposed to rape. The Mad King and his queen...” Lannister paused, looked away. “Rape was a tool Aerys used, well. Rhaegar, though.” Lannister shrugged. “What was between him and Elia Martel was willing. Not love, but he was kind to her. Rhaegar and Lyanna?” He shook his head. “I don't know. The only time I saw them together was fleetingly before the tournament at Harrenhal. It was the only time I ever saw Lyanna, actually.” 

“Howland Reed said the name Lyanna gave the babe was Targaryen,” Davos said, head cocked. “But Rhaegar was married already.”

Lannister pinched his lips and shrugged. “The Targaryens were known to have married two women before. Rhaegar was crown prince. Kings can do as they like.” He made sure to stare down Jon at that. 

Do as they like or not, that wasn't the king Jon wished to be. That led Jon where he knew they likely already were. Needing to find a record of such a marriage. Perhaps Sam would have luck with the maesters in Oldtown. If records were kept by the new gods of the Seven they had been destroyed at the Sept of Baelor. 

“You know,” Lannister said, leaning in closer, “if you are the legitimate son of Rhaegar, your claim to the Iron Throne is better than Daenerys'?”

“I don't want the Iron Throne.” The words came out too harsh. As a son he had more rights than his aunt. Just as he had been named king as the bastard of Ned Stark over Ned's own legitimate daughter.

Lannister bowed and shrugged. “Remind her of that when you ask to keep the North.” Jon narrowed eyes on the Kingslayer. With proof it would be a useful plea to make.

Lannister turned back to the map. “You've made fortifications in the south.” 

“What Reed was up here to help with.” Jon nodded. “Making sure the neck can hold if it must.” Because after conquering the rest, the Dragon Queen would eventually march North. “Could the Lannisters spare men for such?” Jon asked. There they would be able to quickly return to Casterly Rock if they were needed. 

“Only light troops, but then that's what you would want in the neck.” The Kingslayer shrugged. “I'll send a raven to my cousin Daven. See how many could be raised and spared.” 

Jon cocked his head. Light troops to be quicker to return, but the neck was swamp and bog and no place for a heavy armored man to fight. Jon knew Tywin Lannister had known how to win a war, but he had wondered what Jaime might really know of war. A man who had spent much of his life doing nothing but guarding doors and winning tournaments. A man who Robb had easily enough trapped and captured. 

Lannister tapped the map with his real hand just south of the Neck, where the map faded away into lands not included. “Extra troops at the eastern edge of the Westerlands would aid us both.” Be shifted quickly where they were needed to protect both houses. Jon nodded. 

“Does House Lannister stand with the new Queen?” Jon tightened his lips. 

“Shouldn't you have asked that yesterday?” Lannister smirked, then shrugged. “My brother is her hand and she fought my sister for the throne... It's complicated.”

“And the Westerlands?” Jon cocked his head. Those were Lannister lands, technically Lord Jaime's lands. 

“Let the Lannisters worry about the Westerlands.” His voice was hard, his face blank. “Winning a Southern war is something we know about.”

“Maybe.” Davos stepped up to the table. “You lost King's Landing.” He tilted his head. 

Lannister nodded and scrunched his face up. “My sister demolished a quarter of the city. Even the Mad King did not do such. There was going to be a price to pay” He let out a long sigh. “I sliced out exactly what the Lannisters could pay.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. The Kingslayer had decided how many men he could sacrifice in a defeat, and then designed the battle to make sure those were what he lost. A military move more taking with Twyin Lannister than Ned Stark. Did the Kingslayer look the soldiers in the eye who he knowingly sent to be killed? It was one thing to go into a battle knowing defeat was a possibility, knowing the men behind you might die. Jon had done so himself to retake Winterfell. Had lost good men doing so. But, to know you sent a man to their death, to know you sent them where they would be overtaken and killed. He made sure not to shake his head, not to show his dislike. Jon hoped he never had a battle where he had to do the same as Jaime had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is not one to actually behave well. 
> 
> From my research the Free Folk do hold incest as a horrible sin, for good reasons. The twins part I made up, based on just the fact that keeping twins alive in a harsh place is likely to be difficult. 
> 
> Meant to have the talks about R + L = J to linger longer, but then thought it made as much for plot to just get it out early.


	4. Tales and Past Wrongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime finally really talk. Jaime airs past sin and grievances.

Dinner had gone tonight much as last night. Jaime sat sullen, dark and mostly silent. Darkness had long ago set outside. The chill of winter in the air and swirling wind banged at the windows and shutters. Snow would come tonight, not that such was odd. 

Brienne made a point of not shivering in the chill of the hallway. She paused at the room given to Jaime and almost turned on her heel and left. Instead, she knocked and waited for it to open. 

He didn't smile at her presence. But, stepped back and let her enter. He had spoken truthfully he was not the man she had known years ago. He was sadder, more sullen. He had always been crude and course when he thought it might shock, but never as vulgar as she had heard him in the last days. Some of that arrogance had been stripped from him. He had always followed someone, his father, his sister, even his brother. While she had seen him command men well, she wondered how anchorless he felt inside. 

His blue eyes stared at her. His hand fumbled undoing the fastenings of his coat. Brienne stepped forward and undid them all. It was only after that she looked up at him and thought she might have misstepped. He did not need a nursemaid to care for him. Instead, he eyed her and nodded, perhaps giving her silent thanks. 

“Is there something you want Brienne?” He shrugged out of the coat. His gold hand had already been removed and he glanced at it sitting on a desk in the corner. 

“Just to talk.” She frowned. “So much, I am sure, has happened with us both.”

Two chairs sat before the fireplace in his room. It blazed bright and warm. Brienne moved to sit in a chair and noticed a cat, a fluffy gray tabby, curled in one of them. She cocked an eyebrow at Jaime and sat in the empty chair. 

“Wine?” He gestured to a carafe on the desk. “Not the best, but from the south.”

“Yes.” Brienne answered. She took the offered wine glass while he returned to get another. 

When he sat he used his stump to lift the cat and then settle it back on his lap. “Ser Pounce,” he said, “Tommen's cat.”

“He liked cats?” She thought she remembered Jaime mentioning that once. 

Jaime nodded. He rubbed the cat's side and under its chin with the sleeve of his stump, his good hand raising his glass to his lips. 

Brienne took a sip herself. Jaime Lannister, there was a time she would have given almost anything for him to have closed that smart mouth of his, and now he sat silent and she knew that if she wanted to do this she would have to be the one to start. 

She let out a long sigh. “I found Arya first, with the Hound, although she did not come with me then.” She continued on. She mentioned how Podrick had suggested they head to the Vale over the North. How she found Arya and fought the Hound, still failing Lady Catelyn as Arya did not trust Brienne enough to go with her. How she discovered Sansa with Littlefinger and being denied again. That they followed Sansa North to Winterfell where they waited in the growing cold in case Sansa changed her mind. How she avenged Renly by killing Stannis. The night they saved Sansa and Theon and then returned Sansa to Castle Black and Jon Snow. Her help with the plans to retake Winterfell. She told of their travels back North after Riverrun, how they found Arya on the way and returned her to Winterfell. She told of the rebuilding of the keep, readying the army for the fight with the Army of the Dead when it comes. 

It took a long time to mention all that. Long enough they had emptied their wine glasses. The fire had died down and been rekindled by Jaime with another few logs. The cat now lounged next to the fire. 

Jaime chuckled when she finally finished. “Is that all?” 

“Sorry.” Brienne frowned. “I had not meant to go on so long.”

He shook his head. “I'm not sure I've ever heard you speak so much in one sitting.”

“More wine?” Brienne almost rose. 

Jaime shook his head again. “Leave it for the morrow.”

Brienne nodded. She leaned back and cocked her head. “Your turn.”

He tightened his lips and took a deep breath. For a moment she thought he would not follow with any tale of his own. But, Jaime liked to talk too much, wanted and needed someone else to know his full tale as she had needed someone besides Pod to know hers. 

He started with King's Landing and his brother's trial. He told her of Cersei taking him back and finally telling their father of their incestuous union. He told of Dorne and Mrycella dying in his arms, of returning to find Cersei hardened to anger by the High Sparrow. How after he was with Cersei in reality more than he had ever before. How Tommen was being controlled by the High Sparrow and his Uncle Kevan. He told of after Riverrun, finding the burning ruins of the Sept of Baelor, his remaining son dead and his sister on the throne. All she got after was that he and Cersei had a falling out, despite him defending her from their enemies. 

“You know the rest.” Jaime shrugged. 

Brienne nodded. “Yes.” The fire had died down again. The candles had almost burned down to the base. “It is late.” 

He nodded. Brienne rose and he followed her to the door. They paused before it. She wondered for a moment about kissing him again, wanted to feel his lips on hers. But, she did not, afraid neither would be able to stop. 

“Thank you, Brienne.” He gave a half smile. “For... It was nice to tell someone... all of that.”

Brienne nodded and smiled. “It was.” She could think of no one better to have done so with. “Perhaps you will not be so gloomy tomorrow.”

He gave a light chuckle. “Perhaps. Really I just like that they don't want me to put on the damn fake smile I've worn most of my life. It's... freeing.” She frowned at that, because he was gloomy. She had seen him stripped of that smile before but this was different. “Besides,” he continued, “the King could outgloom me with just his little finger.” Jaime lifted it to display what he meant. 

Brienne shook her head and sighed. “Goodnight, Jaime.”

“Night, Brienne.” She left and returned to her rooms and tried not to think how lovely it had been to simply be near Jaime Lannister again. 

#

The next evening found them again sharing a table for dinner. King Jon seemed to like it, a time for everyone to come together and share. He seemed to use it instead of a small or war council. With the days growing shorter it meant they were all set to more important tasks than talk during daylight. 

Brienne nodded and smiled at Jaime as he entered. He almost rolled his eyes at her to show his thrill at another evening among the Starks. 

“The new stockade is complete?” Jon asked Jaime. 

“Almost.” Jaime answered as if Jon was his King, which in reality he was not.

Jon Snow had the Lannister army and he'd set them to building more holds, mainly for the horses they had brought North. Everyone expected Jaime to bemoan the misuse of his troops, but he had only nodded agreement. Brienne had caught him throughout the day there with his men. The wind blistering and snowflakes fell as the men placed the wooden fencing in place. Southern men not used to the cold, but they had proven themselves able today. And Jaime, who Brienne always imagined as a leader more to order and leave his men to a task, instead stood and worked in the cold with them. His red wind-chapped cheeks evidence of such. 

Jaime was explaining how one wall built on the windward side of the stockade would allow protection for the horses, and limit snow drifts. Seems this was the last thing to complete the build. Jon nodded, clearly a bit impressed Jaime actually meant to serve as asked. 

Sansa entered dressed in a thick wool gown of green, decked in an embroidered wolf. “Ser Jaime,” she asked as she stepped closer, “is it true you have a cat? One you brought North with you?”

Jaime cocked his head. He did not look at Brienne. She herself had not told Sansa of the cat. What did it really matter? Likely a servant have mentioned it to the Lady.

“Yes.” Jaime nodded, face flat. “Ser Pounce.”

“Tommen's Ser Pounce?” Sansa tilted her head. “Grey fluffy tabby?”

“Yes, Tommen's cat,” Jaime answered. 

“You brought it all the way North?” Sansa pinched her lips in thought. 

“Was I to leave him to his own devises in King's Landing?” Jaime narrowed his eyes. He wanted someone to mention it was just a cat, but Sansa did not. 

“Tommen always did love those cats.” She gave a small smile, an almost genuine one. “He was...” Sansa clamped her lips closed and did not say whatever else was on her mind. Sweet, kind, too young to have died? Rickon had been as well. 

“Common cat?” Tormund laughed as they all took their chairs. “I thought the Lannisters were the lions.”

“We did have lions, when I was a boy.” Jaime smiled. “Great, fierce beasts that would tear the goats we fed them to pieces in minutes.” He leered at the table, until he crossed Brienne's face and her frown. He needed to not needle these people too much, this she knew well.

“Larger than a direwolf?” Arya stared daggers at Jaime. 

“By a bit.” Jaime answered, his face set. “And I've been as close to a direwolf as a lion.” 

Arya just continued to glare. Her fingers reached for a knife at her belt. In general the men and Brienne all come to these dinners unarmed. Brienne assumed Bronn had a knife hidden somewhere on himself, as she had a lone knife, in case. Arya tonight though, had her knife in sight. She glared at Jaime and clenched her hand around its handle. Jaime meet her stare, his eyes not looking to her hand and action, although Brienne knew he was aware. 

Surely Jaime had heard tales of Arya's murderous ways. At least Brienne hoped he had. Because Brienne knew well from having talked to the woman, Arya had murder in her cold-blooded heart and was more than a capable killer if she wanted to kill a person. 

Jon sighed and ignored his younger sister – cousin. Instead, they talked about the day as they ate. Jaime had little to add, so mostly ate in silence as the previous nights. Arya glared the whole time. Brienne knew that even if she was Lady Catelyn's daughter, Brienne could not side with Arya if she tried to kill Jaime. 

Dinner was done and the table was being cleared when Jaime finally let out an exasperated sigh. “What wrongs have I done you, Lady Arya?” He leaned forward to see her better. 

“Bran,” was her lone answer. 

Jaime nodded. “Do you want to hear of Bran and his crippling? Really?” He cocked his head and then told them, the table falling silent as Brienne and the rest heard more truths of that fateful day than they'd known. “All long arms and legs, a boy of ten.” Jaime sighed. “I can still feel his heart hammering in his little chest against my palm. But, he was a boy, and I couldn't trust he would not tell someone.” 

“So you tried to kill him.” Arya's face was set, her eyes blazing. 

“Yes,” came Jaime's plain answer. “To protect Cersei, and our children – only ever ours when she wanted me to do violence for them. Do you know what King Robert would have done to us had he ever found out?” Arya did not answer or move to. “He would have cleaved them in two. All of us. And I could not have saved them all, not if he was angry and half sober.”

“And you are sorry for what you did?” It was Sansa who asked. 

Jaime shook his head, although there was no mirth in his face. “I would do it again. She was my lover and sister, and they were my children. I loved them.” He shrugged. “It was Bran or my family. I have no regrets for choosing family. After, we finished fucking. Cersei righted herself and left. I waited before I left.” He swallowed. “Looking down from the window I knew he was still alive, might live even. But there was nothing more I could do to kill him. Seems the Gods had bigger plans for him.”

“Finished fucking?” This from Jon, the words course on his lips. 

Jaime sighed and gave a half-frown. “It was our only time alone during those months of travel. If I had to kill your brother – cousin I guess now – I might as well have done the action I defended.”

Brienne sighed and tried to not shake her head. Jaime and his crude way of looking at life. Because she could see the disgust on everyone's face at his actions. 

“What about our father?” Arya asked. 

“Ned?” Jaime frowned. “I didn't kill the man, but...” He sighed. “He died because he found out the truth of Cersei and I, about Robert's children.” He shrugged. “I was half of that secret. As for him losing his head.” Here Jaime looked at Sansa, who had been there to see it, had been made to look at her father's severed head. “Cersei would have accepted his confession that his claim was a lie, to him taking the Black. But... Joffrey had the power to kill a man, and...” Jaime scrunched up his face. “I was half of creating that monster, so you can blame me for Ned's beheading, yes.”

“Is that not enough for your life?” Arya asked. 

“I sent Brienne to find you and Sansa.” Jaime narrowed his eyes. He was losing patience with this and Brienne knew this was not good. “Instead of bringing back Sansa's head on a spike, as my sister asked.” He tilted his head. “After the Battle of the Bastards I left the Lannister army in King's Landing to protect the crown, talking Cersei out of sending the bulk of it here to take Winterfell from you.”

“Perhaps that pays for what you personally have done against our house,” Sansa said, drawing Jaime's gaze. 

“Have I asked any payment for how the Starks have wronged me?” Jaime narrowed his eyes again and looked back to Arya. “Your brother Robb left me chained to a post, sitting in my own shit for a year.” His face scrunched up in disgust. “He threatened me with that direwolf of his for fun. Gave me nothing but scraps of food, as if I were a dog.” Anger rang in Jaime's voice and showed in his face. “My hands shackled merely this far apart.” Here he raised his hands, his wrists no more than a foot apart. “Your mother struck me with a rock. And Robb's men threatened to take my head more than once. Should I not ask Stark apologies for all that? Yet, I have not.”

Sansa and Jon had narrowed their eyes at this. Everyone knew he had been a captive, perhaps they had not heard how their brother – Jon's cousin now – treated Jaime. Arya's face had not softened at all. 

Jaime smirked. “What about my crippling?” he asked her. 

“Done by the Boltons,” Arya answered. 

“Done by Locke, Bolton's man, yes.” Jaime nodded. “Who was under your brother's command still. It was the Northern army who took my hand. There's no doubt of that. And the Northern army was your brother Robb's army, was it not?” His voice was concise and hardened. 

Jaime unstrapped his gold hand. It clacked to the floor beside him. He tugged his sleeve to show the puckered and scared flesh where his arm had been repaired by Qyburn after. “The North, your brother Robb's North, did this to me. A Kingslayer without the hand that slew the King. A great swordsman without the hand that made him famous. I can't cut my own food at dinner. I struggle clothing myself, can't put on my own armor. I fumble with my laces and cock to take a piss. I couldn't dig a hole for posts today. Must rely on my knees to led a horse properly. My writing looks like a boy of six. Should I go on?” Jaime's voice rose through all this, his face scrunched more. “Have I ask anything of the Starks for what was done to me? For my maiming?” He shook his head. 

“So why wish harm of the one Lannister who has already paid for the disagreement between our houses?” Jaime's voice actually pleaded now. “A Lannister who has not killed one Stark. If I meant any of you harm, I would not be here.”

“We don't mean you harm either,” Sansa spoke her eyes hard on her sister. Jon gave Arya a similar look. 

Arya turned her frown to her kin. She shoved away from the table. “You're good at using those smart words of yours, Kingslayer. Better than I take it you use a sword these days. I didn't agree to any alliance with the Lannisters, or with you.” She stormed off. 

“She won't harm you,” Jon told Jaime. 

“Forgive me, your Grace, if I don't believe you have the power to protect me.” Jaime gave the room a wane smile. 

“Murderous little thing, ain't she?” Bronn raised an eyebrow and gave Jaime a knowing look. 

Jaime bent to retrieve his gold hand and placed it in his lap to refasten it. He shoved himself away from the table. He didn't give a good night, or ask to leave, didn't even spare the table a last glance, he just stood and left. 

“Huh?” Bronn said what possibly many at the table was thinking. Brienne almost thought about following him, but decided against it. Perhaps in some ways it might have been better Jaime got out the words he had. While she knew most of the thoughts he'd shared about his hand, she knew they were things he hid well from others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Jaime truly holds the remaining Starks accountable for his imprisonment or maiming. Those happened in war, and once he decided to live he's moved onward and forward. Blaming the Starks for his maiming is a bit of a stretch, but Locke was Bolton's and Bolton was under Robb's command, although clearly Robb was doing a poor job at that. But, I see Arya as hating all Lannisters still, and Jaime finally just wanting to turn the tables on her anger. Because of all the Lannisters he has paid for the disagreement between their houses, even if he's already come to peace with how he was treated and harmed. 
> 
> As for Ser Pounce, I have it in my head that Jaime took him in after he returned to find Tommen dead, then couldn't well leave the beloved cat behind in King's Landing when they fled, which was planned. Let's just not ask how exactly Jaime managed to get a caged cat out in the middle of battle.


	5. A Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A raven arrives from King's Landing for Jaime.

“Well, are you at war with the Dragon Queen?” Jaime cocked his head. They were in the King's solar, called to a impromptu council: the King, Sansa, Davos of course, Brienne and Tormund. Arya lurked in the corners of the room. It likely said something that Jaime had been included. Brienne cast him a frown, because as such he was not supposed to be running his mouth. The Dragon Queen had finally marched north, taking the Riverlands easily in the wake of her army. 

“Are you?” Jon asked, cocking his head the same. 

Jaime smiled. “She's whipped the Lannisters enough for a time. There are others left to fight.”

“Others includin' the North.” Davos frowned. “The Riverlands won't hold long. What of the other kingdoms?” This he asked of Jaime. He was the one who had been south recently. 

“The Stormlands have been taken.” He dipped his head to Brienne. “Without the Baratheons, what army they had lost by Stannis in the North, the lords left surrendered mostly.” He shrugged. “Dorne and High Garden sided with her for King's Landing. How in the fold they are, I'm not sure. The Westerlands lost half of our troops at King's Landing. She could have finished us as we ran, but a storm prevented her.” He chuckled at that, stormborn driving back by a snow storm he'd pushed the Lannister army through, somehow. 

“How long do you think the Riverlands will hold?” Jon frowned. 

Jaime almost laughed. “Not long. The Freys will bend easily, depending on who's in charge now. Edmure barely holds Riverrun at all, and he's rubbish in a battle. Hell, the Freys are as well. They'll fall quicker than the Stormlands possibly.”

“Lord Baelish also holds Harrenhal in the Riverlands,” Sansa spoke, her voice a bit unsure she should be speaking. 

“Yes, but in name only.” Jaime shook his head. “He'll never set foot in that cursed place to claim it. Maybe the Dragon Queen will claim it and do us all a favor.” Laughter bubbled up from the thought that they could be so lucky, although Tyrion would never truly allow it.

“How is that?” Tormund asked, brow furrowed. 

“Harrenhal is cursed.” Jaime frowned. “Any man who has ever held it is dead: my father, King Robb, Bolton, Locke, even the Mountain finally.”

“Who's next? The Vale, the Westerlands?” Jon nodded. 

The question Jaime wanted to know himself. Hh hoped the Vale. Hoped the new queen would see the Westerlands as an easy target for after all but the North had fallen. 

“The Vale and North are allied.” Davos said. “As is the Westlands, I suppose.” This he spoke to Jaime. 

“I'm not allied with the Vale,” Jaime kept his tone from being angry. And he couldn't throw his whole army at the North. 

“If she attacks the Vale next, they'll retreat to the Eyrie.” Jaime nodded. “That might buy us all time. But then, don't count on the Vale giving further support.” Jaime shook his head. The North did not have enough men left. Even more than the Riverlands it had been bled dry, in part from the Red Wedding his father had orchestrated. 

“Not enough troops.” Davos shook his head. Even if the Lannisters could spare more, even if the Vale fully supported the North. There were not enough. 

“Winter.” Jaime leaned an elbow on the table, placed his chin on his hand. “The Dragon Queen's troops can't handle winter in the North. They barely handled the chill of King's Landing. The Dornish and High Garden troops will fair little better.” He remembered that, the Unsullied with bare chest and metal plate, goosebumps on their tanned skin. The bare chests of the horse lords of Dothraki. 

“So we wait?” Jon shook his head. 

“You let winter set in cold and snowy.” Jaime nodded and smirked. “You let them pass, and march all the way to Winterfell to meet you. You let frostbite and fever take half their forces.” Although, those were men they could use in the final fight, but to break the dragon sacrifices were going to be needed. “Then,” Jaime said, smirking wider, “you treat with her, give her a deal she can't turn away.”

“Bend the knee?” Tormund shook his head hard enough to stir his thick beard. 

“No bending the knee.” Jaime sighed, damned Northerners and their odd views. “You strike a bargain.”

“But, what does she want?” Davos cocked his head. 

Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule. Jaime kept the frown from his face. They give up the Stark name and let the blood of the wolves live on with a dragon name, but no one in the room would agree to that. Jaime couldn't blame them, if he thought of doing the same Tywin would return from the crypts to slit his own throat. 

“You could send a raven to your brother, and ask?” Brienne spoke for the first time. 

Jaime slid his head to rest in his propped hand. As if it would be so easy. 'Tyrion, what praytell does your dear Queen desire most, so I may offer it to take away what she has set out to conquer?'

“You have before.” Brienne tilted her head, her voice soft. She did not mention, but she would have guessed. How else did the Dragon Queen know not to use her dragons when taking King's Landing?

Jaime had sent a single raven to his brother after the Dragon Queen had taken Dragonstone. He'd written it in his own sprawling hand, a coded puzzle only Tyrion was likely to solve, too full of games and memories of their childhood. But, a message still of the danger of fire in King's Landing. 

Now he sighed and frowned and looked at Brienne. What were the odds Tyrion truly knew, or would answer truthfully if he did. “I will try.” If he didn't give her that much she was going to just persist. She dipped her head, pleased at least in that. 

“Would she really lose half her army to the cold?” Jon finally spoke. 

“Have you seen how they dress in the south?” Jaime tilted his head. “Not my south, but further where the winters are barely frost in the morning? Do you remember having ever been south of Moat Cailin?” Because Jon Snow had been born in the south, had existed there for a short time. 

Jon shook his head. That was the problem wasn't it, Jon Snow was a Northman down to his bones. Jaime might have laughed at the Dragon Queen if she actually thought she could call up the warm Targareyn blood in him. How does a man remember dragon blood that might flow in his veins when he has only known the plain harshness of the North and the cold? 

“You think my leather is unreasonable, or Stannis was in his chilled chainmail.” Jaime shook his head. “The farther you travel south the more and more they bare their skin.” Unbridled the image jumped into Jaime's head of scolding Myrcella for her dress in Dorne, showing more skin than he had seen since she'd been a babe. “Tell him, Davos.”

“Aye. They wear so little sometimes you wonder why they bother.” Davos nodded. “They aren't likely to cover up enough, not knowin' they need to.”

“Leave them an hour even in the light chill of today and parts would be falling off,” Jaime added. 

“Stupidity,” Tormund said with a booming voice. 

Davos shrugged. “Arrogance and ignorance.” 

“How many men does she have, Queen Daernerys?” Jon asked. His lips tightened into a grim expression. 

“At the taking of King's Landing...” Jaime tilted his head, looked upwards and recounted in his head. “Combined forces of likely 80,000 fighting men and a few women.”

Jon frowned and let out a shaky breath. The North would be doing good if they could counter with more than 5,000. For a moment, Jaime thought the King of the damned North was going to ask for his own numbers. Not enough either. He lost 10,000 at King's Landing, 10,000 good men. With new forces raised in the the Westerlands the Lannister could field about 15,000. Not enough. 

Jon shook his head. “We need every living man and woman for the coming Long Night and you suggest we sacrifice tens of thousands to a cold march north for peace?” 

Jaime shrugged. “It's a suggestion.”

“Tens of thousands possibly added to the Army of Death as they sweep south.” Jon shook his head, face grim. 

“Lord Commander,” Kywin, Jaime's young squire, said before Jaime could stress again it was just thoughts, not something to decide on soon. 

“Yes?”

“A raven from King's Landing for you, Lord Commander.” The boy handed over a still sealed scroll, bowed and left. 

The red seal held a crowned lion. Only one person used such a seal. Jaime felt the pit of his stomach fall to his feet. Whatever expression he gave he quickly hardened it to blankness. His face hopefully as stone hard as his will would have to be when he opened the scroll. He fisted the scroll. Only bad news could be coming this far from Cersei, only bad. 

“From the Queen's Hand?” Davos asked, perhaps having seen the Lannister red. 

Jaime shook his head and managed to say in a flat voice, the voice he'd used for duties as a Kingsguard, “From the old queen.” He turned to Jon Snow. “If we're done talking of possibilities for our grim future?” His voice again was solid and emotionless. His heart pounded in his chest. He pocketed the scroll before his sweaty palm ruined it. Brienne gave him a questioning look, and thankfully no more. 

Snow bowed his head and did not speak. Jaime bowed in reply, turned on his heel and left. He burst into the chill outside. His heart still pounded. He felt lightheaded and queasy. He flicked open the scroll and managed to unfurl it one-handed. All his befuddled head could make out was 'Jaime', 'please', 'help', signed 'Cersei'. He gave a frustrated sigh and pocketed the scroll. Paced in the muddy slush of Winterfell hoping the cold would calm him enough he could read the cursed message. 

#

His head still wasn't clear when he found himself at the old tower, looking up at the window he'd thrown little Bran from. He'd been in the cold long enough his fingers ached, his cheeks were numb and a light layer of snow covered him. 

Snow crunched behind him. “What news from the South?” He didn't look behind him to see Brienne. 

“I haven't read it yet.” He frowned up at the falling tower. 

“Will it be bad news?” Brienne stepped up beside him, looked at him not the tower before them.

“It can't be anything but bad news.” She wouldn't write for anything but a final plea for aid, aid he likely couldn't and wouldn't give her. Jaime had offered to take her away, that was the last he could do to help her. 

They stood there in the chill for a time yet. Had to love the wench's stoicism. Jaime finally sighed, and took out the scroll. His fingers were now too chilled to unfurl it one-handed. Brienne reached out a hand and held one side for him, opening the scroll enough to read. 

Jaime glanced at her, swallowed and turned to concentrate on reading the message. He did so carefully, slowly. Read again to make sure. Re-read a third time. 

_Jaime, dear brother and lover,_

_Queen Daenerys denies me a trial by combat. My trial will be within the fortnight. She named herself, Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria Sand as judges. Tyrion denounces me and condemns my actions. Qyburn has switched sides and means to testify against me. I need an ally, dear lover. I need someone to testify to the worth of my life. Please help, Jaime. I need you. I love you. Please, help._

_Cersei, always yours lover, always._

She was dead, as good as dead. A fortnight, even if he wished, even if he rode horses to their death to try and reach her... Jaime sighed. He'd known this, but to see it in writing, to hear her pleading voice in her written words. 

“I am sorry, Jaime.” 

He shook his head and swallowed. He didn't want Brienne's damned pity. Cersei deserved a trial to answer for her crimes, deserved execution for all those she'd killed. Part of him yearned for that justice, another part ached for her to remain alive somewhere in the realms. 

“You should come in from the cold.” Brienne let go of her end of the scroll and wrapped her hand around his forearm. “It is not worth it to make yourself ill.” Cersei is no longer worth it, Brienne did not say. 

Jaime sneered. He crushed the scroll in his hand tight enough blood rushed into it and warmed it. 

“Come,” Brienne repeated, her voice a whisper at his ear. She tugged him back to the rest of the keep, into the warmth inside. 

#

Jaime went to dinner as usual, his body warm again, the rest of him still numb. His mind still ran through the reply he had penned. Each word had been carefully picked and painstakingly written. 

“What was the news from the south?” was the first words from the King in the North's cursed mouth. 

Jaime kept his face solid. The question was another test. Could Lord Lannister be trusted to receive ravens for his eyes only, trusted to tell the King of Winterfell of news important contained in such? “My sister is not long for the world.” Jaime's voice was as empty as his face, as empty as he felt. 

Questioning looks all wanted more, but Jaime had no more words to spare them. Brienne looked at him, tilted her head, her expression asked while her words did not if she could share the rest. He nodded his head for her to do so. 

“Queen Cersei will face a trial. Her judges are all hated enemies. Tyrion does not support her.” Brienne's voice was steady. “And her trusted adviser Qyburn has turned against her.” 

There Brienne stopped. Jaime kept his face neutral, his eyes blank. No mention of Cersei's plea for his aid. Why should he feel such relief that she kept that secret from them? This room held no apologies for his hurt. Why would it? He looked at the table spread with dinner and realized he'd rather slit his throat than manage even being here. 

Jaime shoved himself back and out of his chair and rose. 

“Jaime?” Brienne called. 

Bronn reached out beside him and griped Jaime's arm. 'Fuck off,' Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he glared at Bronn, perhaps a bit of sympathy in his Man-at-Arm's face. He pulled his arm from Bronn and left. Slammed the door to his room and sat in the growing darkness. 

A knock sounded. Jaime thought of leaving it, but it came again. He sighed and opened the door. Brienne stood outside with a plate of food. 

“I'm not hungry.” Jaime frowned. 

Brienne merely entered, with the plate, and put it down on his desk. “You knew this would come.”

Jaime eyed her. “Of course.” If he'd ridden to Casterly Rock, perhaps he could come to Cersei's aid. But he'd gone North, too far. Brienne stood, arms behind her back, head tilted, clearly not leaving. 

“I've never existed without her,” he whispered. 

“I know.” Brienne tightened her lips. “But you are not defined by her.” Brienne who always saw the better in him. Perhaps that was why he had ventured North, to get back to someone who did that. 

Jaime narrowed his eyes, couldn't voice she might be right. “Can you read something for me?” He handed over the scroll. “Check it for errors?”

“Of course.” Brienne took the scroll and quickly read it. She frowned, eyed him and did not speak. Of course there were errors, he was too emotional to write the damn thing. It had to be in his hand though. Were it only for Cersei's eyes he wouldn't care, but others will read it. 

“I can correct it and you can copy it,” Brienne said. She crossed to the desk to do just that. 

Jaime let out a strangled laugh. “Were it only that easy.” He shook his head and followed her to the desk. He sat, and laid out another scroll. “Tell me before I make a mistake.” 

That was how Tyrion had done it as a child, the two of them in the Maester's chambers. Always a different tell from Tyrion, tapping his hand, kicking Jaime's leg, winking, turning the page of a book. Tyrion who was reading almost before Jaime himself. 

Brienne nodded and stood on his right to better see him write. “Do you do this often, miswrite your words and letters?”

Jaime looked up at her, lips tightened, eyes hard. “I need to concentrate.” She bowed and said no more. 

Brienne and her damned patience. They fell into a silence only broken by her spelling, repeating the letters more than once sometimes, a quiet 'backwards', or 'upside down'. He thought maybe there would be judgment, but there wasn't. Who besides his siblings even knew of his problems. Writing was something he rarely had to do in his old job, something he could pawn to another usually now. 

Finally, he signed his name, the first thing his father had made him learn to write, the one he had memorized the best. “Good?” He turned the scroll for her to better read. She did so, nodded. 

Jaime read it one last time. Brienne had not once mentioned the words, asked if he was certain those were the words he wished. Perhaps when it came to Cersei she thought it best to leave it to Jaime. 

_Cersei, my love,_

_I could not make it in a fortnight even if I wished. I am a Lannister still, the slayer of King Aerys, even my tears would not sway leniency with the Dragon Queen. Better I plea with Tyrion. Perhaps I can sway him, you could take the Black. I am sorry, dear sister._

_Love always,  
Jaime_

“Have you sent the raven to your brother?” Brienne asked. 

“Already done by the maester's hand.” He shook his head. “It won't make a difference.” Perhaps if Cersei had ever shown Tyrion love, he might plea for her now, but... Jaime's own note to Cersei was empty, and would only bring her anger. But Jaime could not leave her hoping he'd ride in and be her savior. Jaime was no longer such to his twin, had not been for a while. 

“How often do you have these problems, with your letters?” She tilted her head down at him. 

“Always.” Jaime spilt sand on the scroll's ink, blew it dry and began to roll it up. 

“Since when?” Brienne leaned down to hold the rolled scroll for him. 

“Since I can remember.” Jaime dropped red wax on the seam. 

“But you can read. You are well-read.” Brienne tilted her head, hand still on the scroll. 

“Yes.” Jaime pressed his Lannister lion seal into the hardening wax. “Do you think Tywin was going to have his heir be illiterate?”

Brienne shook her head. “Of course not.”

Jaime dipped his head into his hands. “It took long hours in my father's solar. 'You can do better, Jaime.' 'Again, Jaime.' 'Try, Jaime, TRY.'” He let out a long sigh. “'Lannister's are not illiterate fools, son.'”

“But you can read, Jaime.” Brienne tilted her head down, tightened her lips. 

Jaime felt almost like laughing, because of course the wench would see it as that easy. Instead he stood and tapped the scroll absently. 

“Unless there is something else?” Brienne crossed to the door. “Eat something.” 

“Stay,” Jaime said. 

She paused, turned and narrowed her eyes. 

“I don't mean.” Jaime shook his head and raised his hand. “Your virtue will be unharmed.” She was right it had been so long since Cersei had defined him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't miss her, deep in his bones. “I just don't want to be alone. I can sleep in a chair if you want.” 

Brienne tilted her head and considered the bed. “Eat,” she repeated. Jaime reached behind him and took a roll from the plate, bit into it, an echo of a long ago time from the Riverlands. “The bed will be plenty fine for us both,” she continued. 

“I promise, I won't --”

“I trust you, Jaime.” She tilted her head and meet his eyes. Jaime smiled in reply. How long had he been waiting for that? 

He stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth, and drank a good gulp of water sitting on the desk. He normally undressed more for sleep, but kept on his pants and tunic, much like the few times they had shared a bed in their travels. Brienne took off her boots and tunic but left on a light woolen under tunic. Jaime threw a few more logs on the fire to keep the fire warm through the night. He unstrapped his hand and laid it on the desk. 

It was awkward getting settled into the bed, finding a way to place their bodies on the small surface. Finally Jaime partly gave up and turned on his side, reaching out to pull Brienne into his arms, his right beneath her and his left wrapped around her. That was awkward too, because she was slightly larger and fit oddly into his arms. He briefly wondered if this might be what it felt like to sleep with a man in his arms, but he could feel Brienne's curves and her softness. 

Brienne turned on her side and actually scooted back into his embrace. Brave maiden, he wanted to say, but did not. 

“The night before I went north to Riverrun I spent the night with Cersei, until dawn.” Jaime didn't mention what they did and Brienne didn't have to ask. They'd fucked and talked and rested and then she'd stir him back to hardness to repeat it all. If only he had known what lay ahead. 

“When we were fifteen we shared a tavern room once,” Jaime whispered. “Fucked loud and wild, planned out a future that would never come and woke at dawn a jumble of naked, spend limbs.” He sighed. “We were such stupid, silly children.”

“Everyone is once.” Brienne said with more wisdom than her years should have given her. 

Jaime sighed and rested his head on Brienne's shoulder.

“Surely you have spent the night with her more than that?” Brienne asked quietly. 

Jaime shook his head. “After childhood? Not many more. Sometimes I would woke in the middle of the night and realize I'd dozed off. I'd spring up in a panic, dress and sneak from her rooms hoping the castle still slept.” 

She did not speak to that only reached up and held his hand tightly. “Sleep, Jaime. It is late.”

He sighed and tried to do as asked. Brienne was large and warm in his arms. She smelled a bit of lavender and leather oil. Her breathing softened until Jaime knew she finally fell asleep. Jaime lay there and held Brienne and tried to fight the tears that threatened to come to his eyes. Maybe before dawn sleep would finally take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've guesstimated the numbers of troops. Choosing numbers between something that seems a reasonable mismatch, assuming years of war that the Lannisters in particular have be fighting and that troops cost money the Lannisters no longer have in excess. 
> 
> Hopefully Jaime's dyslexia in this chapter works. I apologize if I've made any errors in portraying it.
> 
> My one extra chapter has become two, but I think they will help the story. Also, writing a long piece is like rearranging chairs on a floating ship. I'm trying to make sure all the details and possibilities make sense and are placed in approximately the right place, not always the easiest to accomplish. And there are so many possibilities this just tells one version I mostly like.


	6. Wolfswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not just White Walkers that lurk in the snows of the North. And Brienne considers what she wants in life and from men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. There was action to write, and plot to consider and then Bronn kept high-jacking the dialog.

Brienne awoke well before dawn. Good, as she needed to try and slip out of Jaime's rooms unseen. She knew the nickname she'd already been given, Kingslayer's Whore, and there was not reason to give possible proof to it. 

Jaime lay warm against her. They had shifted in the night so she now lay on her back, him draped on her chest and against her side. Even sleeping with a man she could not be womanly doing. Jaime stirred against her, his hips rolling. She realized the hardness she felt against her side was his cock. 

Brienne stilled. She thought about reaching down her hand and stroking him. Imagined how the smooth hardness would fill her palm. She imagined him opening his eyes with drowsy lust. She licked her lips and felt dampness grow between her legs. It'd be easy enough to turn her head and place a kiss on his lips, something they had not done since his first day at Winterfell. But where would that go?

It had been so much easier with Tormund. He didn't send her stomach fluttering, didn't send her heart racing. The wildling also was to have not been more than the few nights she had given him. She could not marry him, not as a high born lady and sole heir to Tarth. Jaime Lannister she could now marry, to be what, the Lady of Casterly Rock? It was exactly what she wanted to never be, a lady managing a keep and bearing heirs. Gowns and balls and court, she did none of that well, and she would not embarrass Jaime with her lack of grace in being a lady. 

Jaime sighed, shifted and pulled her closer to him. Brienne slid from beneath him and to the edge of the bed, too quickly because it woke Jaime. He looked up, his drowsy eyes surprised. Brienne stared at him and tried to still her heart. He furrowed his brow and swallowed, perhaps realizing his hardness, wondering if she had too. 

“I should be going.” Brienne leaned down to retrieve her boots. 

“If I offended.” Jaime sat up, making sure his arousal was not obvious. 

“No,” Brienne spoke and shook her head too emphatically. She took a breath and said in a steadier voice, “Of course not.”

Jaime cocked his head. It occurred to Brienne he still thought her a maid, and why would he not, she had not told him otherwise, had not told him about Tormund. It was almost on her lips to do so, at the least to clear the air. But, what did it say of her as a lady to have used the wildling for her own experience? 

Jaime himself seemed to be trying to determine if Brienne had noticed his arousal and was scared of it, or was so unknowledgeable to have not noticed at all. 

“Did you sleep well?” Brienne asked as she bent to tug on her boots. 

“Well enough.” Jaime still looked confused. He shifted closer to her, until his face was almost inches from hers. Now the lust she'd imagined filled them. Her heart sped up and her hand fisted in his tunic at his hip. Brienne wanted to tell him she could never be the lady wife he would want or need.

She thought for a moment he would kiss her, instead she said, “Thank you, Brienne.”

She couldn't reply, merely nodded. Brienne was the one to close the distance between them and kiss him. She angled her head, slipped her tongue pass his parted lips. Surely he did not think an inexperienced maid kissed like this? Jaime ran his fingers through her hair and cupped the back of her head. He shifted closer. His tongue dueled with hers. Brienne sighed into his mouth, lust spreading through her. Jaime moaned, a sound deep from his throat, and it sent a shiver through her, made her think about his hardened cock. 

Brienne pulled away from Jaime and stood. His arms fell, letting her go. The confusion on his face had deepened. “I should go,” she managed to say. “The survey mission you and Davos wished leaves later today.”

He nodded, swallowed. “Yes. I forgot.”

Brienne picked up her overtunic and put it back on. Night still filled the window. They needed a pathway from a western port for supplies to Winterfell. White Harbor was always the usual port used for the North, but Lannisport was western and where southern Lannister supplies would be coming. For a good week, Jaime and Davos has been talking boats and ice, where to make a new road and and how to keep it clear. Davos wanted some actual surveying of a pathway. Brienne, Tormund, Bronn and Podrick had been volunteered to do so for him. 

“There is much to ready first.” Brienne tightened her lips. In reality she and Pod had done most of that yesterday. 

“Yes.” Jaime nodded again. 

Before anything got more awkward Brienne bowed and turned to go. Jaime, still looked confused, but did nothing to stop her leaving. 

#

The awkwardness from the morning only got worst when Jaime was there to see her off. It was no easier with Tormund standing there checking the straps to his saddle, eying the large mount Jon Snow had given him a bit warily. They would be back soon enough, she told Jaime, and left it at little more than that. 

The snows were knee deep on the horses, thickly built northern beasts with course, shaggy fur. The Wolfswood forest surrounded them dark and dense, only adding to the chill and ice. Brienne was not certain making a new road during winter snows made the most sense. But was that not the point. Taking ships up the saltspear to nearer Moat Cailin and then to Winterfell on the King's Road might make more sense, but be longer travel by land and thus over snow. The alternate was to make a new path through the Wolfswood to north of the stony shore. This would be a shorter route and perhaps better harbor for large ships. Bran had claimed to Jon that the wights and white walkers could not near weirwood trees. Jaime reasoned they might be able to use the scattered weirwoods in the forest as shelter points, if they must keep a path open even after the creatures from beyond the wall invaded. 

They passed the ruin of the crofter's village and made camp beyond it for the night. Tormund spotted a shallow hill with thinner snow opposite the windward side. The wildling tents provided were constructed of hides, harder to assemble, but much warmer after, with a vent in the top to let out the smoke from a fire. Two had been provided. 

Brienne tended the cook fire as Pod and Bronn struggled with the second tent. Tormund squatted beside her, his hands working on skinning a rabbit they'd caught for dinner. 

“Me and you could share a tent.” Tormund winked at her. “Leave your boy with the bought sword.” 

Brienne tightened her lips. “I'll share with Pod.”

Tormund frowned and shifted closer. “You ain't fucked him yet though, right? The pretty southron lord of yours.”

Brienne looked to the tent. It collapsed with Pod buried inside. Pod moaned and Bronn chuckling. “No,” she answered Tormund in a soft voice. “And he's not mine.”

Tormund scoffed. “Only you an' him are blind enough to not see that ain't true.”

Brienne frowned at him. She had been clear about her intentions, clear that she did not mean them to have any future. But, as she had found, intimacy complicated things, almost as much as love. 

“There.” Bronn let out a sigh as he and Pod got the second tent up. Both men backed away slowly, as if the thing might collapse again on its own volition. 

Tormund turned from Brienne to laugh at them. He gutted the rabbit and placed it to roast above the fire. Brienne continued to frown at Tormund. Had she hurt the man's feelings? He had seemed fine with the arrangement when she had proposed it. Although she had perhaps not properly explained why even if she gained feelings for him beyond friendship she could not have married him. 

Pod was unloading saddle bags and placing items into the now erected tent. Bronn sat down on a log across the fire from Brienne and Tormund. He spread his gloved hands out to the fire to warm them. Brienne tried not to shiver, the fire was nice but not enough to warm and the tent would surely get cold tonight. 

“Me and you tonight bought sword,” Tormund said to Bronn. He was scraping down the underside of the rabbit pelt with a large knife. 

“We flip a coin while I was gone?” Bronn cocked his head, a move that included his facial features somehow. “Sure you'll be warm enough, Tormund, but how'd Pod draw the lady?”

“I don't mean to cuddle up to ya tonight.” Tormund gave a booming laugh. 

“Maybe we could take turns keepin' the lady warm a' night.” Bronn gave Brienne a leering smile that was mostly in jest. Brienne almost shook her head at the sellsword. Tormund, however, rumbled and glared at Bronn. 

Bronn blinked, cocked his head and gave them both a good look. “You're fucking.” 

“We have bedded,” Brienne corrected using the past tense. Tormund frowned at that. 

Bronn shook his head. “Have you told him yet?” 

“Him?” Brienne tilted her head. 

“Ya know what him I'm talkin' about, mi'lady.” Bronn smirked. Brienne tightened her lips. “You ain't told him?”

“Is it any of Lord Commander Jaime's business, Lord Bronn?” Brienne cocked her head and somehow managed to keep her voice solid. 

“He'd see it as his business.” Bronn shrugged in a way that included his face and it made her wonder if he could gesture at all without exaggerated facial expressions. 

“Well it is not.” Brienne tilted her chin up. “Just as it is none of mine what he has done or not with his sister, or how many brothels and whores you have taken him too.”

“None that took.” Bronn shrugged again. 

Brienne did not give the man a frown at that. Much as every woman in the realm might swoon over Jaime, still, he wanted none of them. Why it made no sense that he might want her. 

“If you're courting another man,” Bronn said gesturing to Tormund, “Lord Jaime'd like to know.”

“I am courting no one.” Brienne shook her head. Tormund looked on upset, listening and perhaps catching the meaning of their conversation. 

“You ain't courting the Lord Commander?” Bronn cocked his head and almost winked at her. 

“No.” Brienne sighed. “Why does everyone assume there is anything between Jaime and I?”

“'Cause you're in love and destined to be together and someday you're both gonna figure it out too.” Bronn looked at her mystified. 

This was the moment that Pod finished with the supplies and joined the conversation. He stumbled to sitting beside Bronn. 

Brienne shook her head again. “We are not.” She looked to Pod to back her up. 

Pod looked around at them all, Bronn's confusion, Tormund's anger and Brienne's harsh look. Pod swallowed. “Mi'lady, I...”

Brienne sighed. “It is fine, Pod.” She looked at Bronn. “We shared a few moments, years ago. Perhaps they were important moments, but it was never more than that.” Bronn shook his head with exasperation. Tormund huffed disbelief. 

Brienne gave all three men in turn a glare. “He is the Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the Westerlands. Do you really think he could make me his lady wife, an awkward, large, lumbering knight, even if I might be the heir to Tarth?” Brienne let out a deep sigh. “He has been embarrassed enough, I will not add to that for him.”

“Have you had this conversation with him?” Bronn lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head. 

Brienne stood and straightened up to her full height. She looked down at them all, Bronn especially. She was taller than all of them, and as least as good a swordfighter as Bronn and Tormund. “This is the last we will discuss this. Otherwise it will be a long and cold few weeks.”

She turned and thundered into the forest. For more wood, she supposed. Bronn let out a deep sigh. “Suppose that's that then.”

#

It was not until the second night that it became apparent why the wolfswood had been so named. Howling echoed in the night, closer and closer. 

“Fire should keep 'em away,” Tormund said as they ate a dinner of rabbit again. Still they set a schedule of watches and Bronn offered to take the first. 

Luckily Bronn did not mention Jaime or her relations with Tormund or much of anything personal to her. Instead they sat in mostly silence as the howls encircled them. For some reason Brienne still did not feel as though she had won. Later, she fell into a restless sleep, Oathkeeper just out of reach, hoping Tormund was correct a fire would keep the wolves at bay. 

Tormund woke her hours before dawn to keep her watch. She shivered at the fire, huddled into her fur-lined cloak. Mist rose off the snow in the forest around her. Tiny flakes drifted in the dry air. As the dawn light filtered through the thick branches the mist cleared for a moment. She spotted a wolf on the crest of the hill, a horribly large white and gray against the snow and twilight. Larger than any wolf Brienne had seen, save King Jon's direwolf Ghost. A shiver not of the cold shimmied up her spine. 

Their next days of travel was not as slow as she thought it might be. The mounts were surefooted in the snow and ice. Tormund had a way of always knowing the best routes to take, where the drifts would be sometimes only a foot deep or less. When Pod asked him once how he did it, Tormund just laughed. 

Between Bronn and Tormund there was never lack of anything to talk of as they ate their meal before bundling up in the tents for the night. Some nights it seemed the men were trying to one up each other with tales and Brienne almost wished they'd just take swords to each other and properly fight. They had to have heard the cursed tale of the bear Tormund took at least four times, in not even as many days. Pod, of course, loved listening to the tales. Afterward just her and Pod in the tent, Brienne would inform him again they were just tales, highly exaggerated. Pod would nod and smile and tell her he knew. She was not sure he meant it. 

The survey itself involved a great deal of daily toil. Many looks at poorly drawn maps, reckoning on the features of the land and assumptions on where they existed in them. They marked out every weirwood they came to, the white trunks almost blended with the snow but the red leaves always gave away the position. Some were as large as that in the godswood at Winterfell, some no more than saplings.

After the first night the wolves keep at bay. Tormund had seen their tracks and confirmed they were direwolves among the wolves. He seemed unconcerned by that, aside that direwolves so far south was not a good sign. While howls rarely issued, they all knew the pack tracked right along with them.

It took a fortnight to make it to the ocean. Brienne had assumed it'd be iced over, as every pond and trickle of a stream they have passed had been part ice. When they burst from the forest to the rocky shore the ocean lay before them wide and gray below a pale blue sky. Through the cold Brienne could smell the salt and it made her oddly ache for home. Very little and no people seemed to inhabit the shore as far as could be seen in either direction. But it was wide and open and certainly had many places to anchor large ships. 

Even here flakes of snow floated on the harsh winds coming from the ocean, and the shallower pools held a thin layer of ice. “Make camp,” Brienne said, the wind strong enough here to almost take away her breath. “I'm going to scout around a bit.” If they had made it all this way she needed to see about finding good locations to set anchor with ships. She was still not convinced this was the way of getting supplies north, but they had been sent to do this and she was going to do it to her best. 

The men all looked at each other. “Someone should at least go with ya,” Tormund said. 

“I'll go,” Bronn said. “You and Pod find a good place to camp.” 

Brienne frowned. She almost would have preferred Tormund and their awkward silence over the sellsword. Bronn gave her a smirk and a nod and they were off headed south along the coastline. 

Out of the trees the wind was brutally cold. It seemed to whip right through her thick cloak and many underlayers. “Do you know anything about sailing?” she asked. 

“Not really.” Bronn shrugged. “Doubt the others know more.”

“Yes.” Brienne spotted an inlet ahead and rode towards it. 

“You?” Bronn kept easy pace with her. He might have actually shrugged deeper into his cloak. 

“I am from an island, Lord Bronn. I have been sailing since I was a child.” Although always smaller vessels than what they would be bringing up from Lannisport. 

The inlet was not frozen over. Waves lapped at its rock pebbled shore. She dug out the map from under her tunic and tried to orient herself with it. Bronn sidestepped his horse up to hers. 

“About there, I think.” He jabbed at a point on the map where just the slightly indention of shore existed. 

Brienne stood higher on her mount to access the landscape, then the map again. “Yes. Looks like.” She took out a charcoal pen to mark the spot. They would label it properly in the camp later. “We should still ride a bit further.”

They'd pushed hard to get to the ocean by the end of the day, and daylight was precious in the winter of the North. Already dusk neared. Bronn tipped his head, sighed, but agreed as they moved on. 

Around the bend the coast continued into the waning light. They rode on until the next bend. She picked out a few more spots on the map but thought likely the first would be the best, as far as she could tell. Here the forest ran almost up to the coast with less pebble and a bit more sand. Clumps of snow covered low clumps of likely dormant sea grass. 

Not a soul or village no matter how small existed. She wondered if the sea held nothing of interest here, or if only there were better places to settle and fish. The North, as she had found, was limitedly inhabited and only the best spots chosen to use. The sun set a beautiful purple, red and orange over the cold gray waves of the ocean. 

Brienne had been paying too much attention to the beauty of the sunset in the frozen washed out twilight growing around them. A howl sounded, then another. Brienne turned her horse. Wolves, several of them, peeked from the darkness of the forest. Brienne's heart hammered. 

“Fight or run?” Bronn still sat his own mount, sword draw. 

Run might have allowed escape, depending on if the horses could outrun the wolves on the icy shore. But, it risked their mounts getting bite by the beasts and getting back to Winterfell down a horse would threaten freezing. 

“Fight?” Brienne quickly called back. 

Bronn nodded. “Gotta agree.” He was off his horse in a breath, shooing the creature further north up the coast, out of their way. 

Brienne dismounted, drew Oathkeeper. Two of them against how many? Strike low, she thought, and mind their teeth. 

Snarls and growls sounded. The wolves drew back their lips to show sharp teeth. Brienne readied her stance, her sword held lower. 

“Just normal wolves, at least,” Bronn mumbled beside her. 

Then the wolves charged. They circled around them and Brienne found herself back to back with Bronn. She was glad now it had been him and not Pod who had come. Bronn was a good swordsman, and a dirty enough fighter to think of a way to handle a wolf. Brienne hoped she could fight as well. 

The first wolf she struck darted away from her swing. She shortened her strike for the second wolf and slashed through the fur at its flank. It yelped and sulked backwards. Already another wolf had taken its place. Brienne didn't count them, only attacked. She slashed at one wolf and then another. There always seemed another. Soon most of the attacking wolves had blood soaked clumps in their fur. She paid little mind to Bronn. He slashed and grunted behind her. 

While she slashed at a wolf on her right, one sulked low on her left and took a good bite out of her ankle. Brienne yelped and her stance faltered. A wolf charged from her right and she slashed her sword out to it. Its teeth nipped at her arm. A second wolf and third attacked from the other side. 

“Too many of 'em.” Bronn growled at one. His sword swished through the air. His back glided against her own. 

Brienne caught one wolf good, a deep stab to his front. It yelped and fell. But another wolf lunged over it and caught hold of her left arm. Brienne yelled in pain and instinctively drew her arm towards her. The locked jaw tore at the sleeve of her chain mail. Brienne flung her arm as the wolf hung on tight and whipped its dangled body on her arm. 

Bronn twirled around and slashed the wolf latched to Brienne's arm. It whimpered and released its jaw. Brienne shoved her sword forward through and out the animal's head. It fell limp as Brienne tugged her sword back. Before Bronn could turn back around, two wolves attacked his opened left side. He moaned in pain as one bit into his thigh, the other went for his chest. He ducked down, the wolf leaping instead over him to Brienne's left. 

Two hands on her sword, Brienne slid her sword halfway into the wolf's side as it hung mid-air. It let out a high-pitched yelp, trajectory carrying it off to the side. Bronn shoved his sword almost to the hilt downward to kill the wolf that had his leg. 

Brienne turned to her right just in time to see a wolf lunge at her chest. It struck her plate armor. Between the force and her weak ankle she tumbled backwards and was laid flat in the snow. The wolf snarled inches from her face. She braced it away with her left forearm. It nashed its teeth and growled. Spittle dripped from its mouth. 

She spared a glance at Bronn to find him fighting off one wolf nipping at his right arm, another wolf held barely away with his sword on his left. 

Her arm trembled trying to hold the wolf away. It snarled and nipped. Its breath puffed in her face. The wolf pushed again. Brienne turned her head to the side. Its teeth caught her cheek. Brienne yelped. Sword forgotten she shoved with both hands and lifted the wolf off. While it recovered its balance, she took out her knife and drove it to the hilt into its underbelly between its front legs. Blood flowed as she withdrew the knife and got a foot under to kick the beast away. 

Another wolf took its place atop her. Bronn was down as well beside her. By the Seven, they weren't getting out of this were they? Then a howl sounded, deeper than before. A growl echoed and a large wolf dashed sideways into the wolf atop Brienne. They two tumbled to her side. 

Brienne rolled and picked up Oathkeeper. She knelt on one knee and accessed the fight. The wolf to come to her rescue wasn't a wolf but a direwolf, a blur of white and gray lashing out at several dark gray wolves. 

Brienne turned to Bronn. He barely held a wolf away from his face with both arms. Brienne slit open the wolf's throat. Bronn threw back his head out of the reach of her sword. He rolled to kneel beside her. 

Other direwolves had followed the first. They fought with the wolves. Growls, snarls, raised hackles of fur, teeth sunk into each other. Bronn eyed Brienne and tilted his head with a quizzical look. Neither spoke, but together they began backing away from the fight, still hunched over.

Away enough they stood, Brienne steadying Bronn on his feet. 

“Your leg?” she asked. 

“Should be fine,” he replied, although his teeth gritted with pain. Swords still drawn, they walked backwards up the coast towards where the horses had fled. 

The direwolf pack was handily beating back the wolves, although Brienne only counted a few direwolves, perhaps five at most. They mounted the horses. 

“Best be out of here before they get done,” Bronn said. 

Brienne nodded. Although she was not certain they need worry, not that she knew why. They walked the horses around the bend. Both wished to be gone, but best not present prey for the direwolves to want to chase. Brienne cast a last look over her shoulder, the first direwolf into the attack the large white and gray one stood watching them leave. 

#

They made it back to camp in the darkening night. Pod was of course worried about Brienne. Tormund seemed surprised at the wolf attack, more surprised they'd been saved by direwolves. Brienne washed out Bronn's thigh injury. Luckily the wolf had only bit him and not torn the flesh any, still the wounds were deep gashes into his thigh. 

“'Least we'll be riding not walking.” Bronn chuckled as she put a salve on the wound and wrapped a bandage around it. Brienne tightened her lips. “Did a number on her face.” He tilted his head to get a better look in the flickering light of the fire. 

“Beauty has never been mine anyway.” Brienne concentrated on tying off the bandage. Her cheek burned from the injury. She knew herself it was one thing to not be beautiful, another to be scarred and ugly. 

Bronn shrugged. “Not your face he finds beautiful anyway.”

Brienne snapped her eyes to Bronn's and meant to glare, but she faltered when she saw the actual concern in his. She waited for Bronn to say another cutting remark, to emphasize the 'he' was Jaime, but the former sellsword did neither. “You should have Pod tend to your cheek,” he finally said.

Brienne nodded. 

#

They made their way quicker back to Winterfell, no longer needing to survey. Bronn at least could use being looked at by a maester or healer. He gritted his teeth more and more as he walked on his injured leg. Brienne's chain mail had saved her from all but bruises on her arm. Her ankle ached, but she could mostly place her full weight on it again. Her cheek, she sighed. A large hunk of flesh had been taken from it. It still burned and ached. She tried not to notice the puss on the bandages Pod replaced each evening. 

Brienne shrugged into her cloak and shivered at just the thought of the chill air outside the limited warmth of her tent with Pod. He slept soundly beside her, lightly snoring. Quietly and careful to let only a bit of cold in, she exited the tent. The cold hit her full on. It felt actually comforting to the harsh warmth of her maimed cheek. Snow fell thick tonight and already the tent had been covered in several inches of the thick, soft powder. She crossed to the other side of the fire, brushed off the snow and sat down on a single log by the fire, beside Tormund. 

“I've got the watch,” she finally said. 

Tormund didn't move, just turned and looked her and the wide bandage over her ruined cheek. “Ya didn't lie to me about what ya offered, woman... Brienne.”

Brienne eyed him. Shadows covered his face in the flickering of fire. Still she could see his blue eyes serious on her. “I know you don't completely understand the difference of our ways.”

He huffed out a breath that frosted before his thick beard. “Your ways...” He shook his head. “Are damned too constrained.”

“They are.” Brienne nodded. Had she not tried to throw off so many of them, by not marrying as she should, by being a knight. “And yours are...”

“Wild?” A smile tweaked on his lips. 

“Rather informal,” she finished instead. 

“Why?” he asked, his voice almost lost in the falling snow around them. “Why....?”

Why me? Why did she ask for the experience in the first place? Brienne frowned and then winced at the tugging on her hurt cheek. 

“Wars have been fought over love, over the union between a man and woman.” She sighed. 

She'd wanted to feel something of what that was, what the mysticism between such joining held. She'd wanted to know why men return to brothels, why he father felt alone without a woman, why Jaime returned to his sister, why Jon Snow sighed so when he talked about his dead wildling lover. There was something there beyond love and she'd thought experiencing it might help her understand. Part of her had just been tired of keeping her maidenhead as something reverent, something to be protected instead of shed, worried she'd die in the North having never known what laying in a man's arms felt like. 

Once she'd actually talked and gotten to know Tormund, she'd known he wouldn't hurt her. She had assumed as a wildling he'd be casual, and as an outsider he held no ties to the politics of houses in the south. 

“I just....” She shook her head. “I was a silly maid... and didn't know how much it would complicate things.” Tormund let out another sighed puff of air that frosted before him. 

There was no love between them, but still there was always something hanging in the air now, most especially in the few moments since that she had found herself alone with him. Brienne thought about their joined bodies, about Tormund sweaty and thrusting above her, about her swaddling him and his cock. She turned away as a blush covered her face. Embarrassment and guilt twisted in her gut. 

“Everyone's a silly maid about it at least once, lass.” Tormund reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

She looked up at him. His face held no emotions she could read. “I am sorry, Tormund, if I've hurt you.”

“You were truthful.” Tormund tightened his lips. “Any hurt's as much my fault as yours.”

Brienne nodded, still upset for having used and hurt a man she had grown to increasing think of as a friend. Upset at herself for having foolishly thrown away something Jaime would have found precious. “You don't like him?” she asked.

Tormund shrugged. “No. But I don't know the man. I trust you though, and you see something redeeming in him, besides his prettiness.”

Brienne snorted out a single laugh. Tormund smiled. “No hard feelings, Lass.” 

She swallowed and tried to lessen some of her guilt with those words. “Thank you.”

Tormund shrugged. “'Sides, I take another woman as mine, she needs to be a Free Folk. There ain't enough of us, and not gonna be more unless we breed 'em.”

He had mentioned he had children, at least two daughters settled with the Free Folk in the Gift. So it made sense Tormund had also had a wife in the way they took them. She didn't mention again how she could never have been his wife. She never intended to be anyone's wife in truth, not even Jaime Lannister's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping the past Brienne/Tormund is explained and works with what has already been written. Women have certainly given away their virginity for worst reasons. Brienne of course has gotten unsure, and hoping that wasn't too sudden.
> 
> Much time was spent looking at maps of the North to help the plot make sense. They do need a western port for supplies from Lannisport to be of any help. And I need that port for later parts. 
> 
> One more action scene in the next chapter and several beyond are written and simply need revision and editing.


	7. Games and Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Sansa talk about Lord Baelish. Jon catches sight of a sword fight.

It was not the first time that Lord Baelish had been back to Winterfell. Sansa knew that he still felt he was owed something. He felt like he could turn at least her against her half brother, now cousin, Jon. Although what would that be worth, because Petyr could never turn Arya against Jon being King of the North. It didn't matter what their relation was now to Arya, she would never turn against Jon. 

Both Tormund and Brienne were gone, away on some mission for Davos. Sansa had certainly missed their presence at dinner the night before. Although, perhaps it had gone over better without either of them scowling at Lord Baelish. She knew how much neither trusted Littlefinger. 

Of course, Lord Jaime Lannister seemed to get in enough glares to make up for Tormund and Brienne's absence. That had surprised her. The Lannisters were good at playing the games Balish did. Sansa had certainly learned a great deal from Cersei. But, the Kingslayer had never struck her as being very good at such, perhaps the worse of the Lannisters at it. Displaying his anger at Baelish certainly showed his lack of skills, perhaps. 

Light snow fell and Sansa looked out the window at the twirling flakes and the sparse covering of it on the courtyard of Winterfell. She was using Jon's solar today, if only because it would not be a place Petyr would look for her. 

“You really have a talent, Lady Stark.” Jaime Lannister's voice turned her from the window to look at him. He gestured with his gold hand to her embroidery she had left on a chair. 

“Thank you, Lord Jaime.” She turned fully from the window. “If you are looking for King Jon, he clearly is not here.”

Jaime gave a smile and bowed. “Clearly.” He crossed to the table where a map of the North was spread. 

“Lady Brienne says you do needlework.” It had been a passing comment once from her swornsword. Sansa did not pry how Brienne knew so much about the Kingslayer. 

He turned, gave a half smirk. “I did. Better than her, better than your sister likely.”

Sansa did not ask, but tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. Needlework was not a skill taught to a boy, especially the kind of boy she imagined Jaime Lannister had been, always wanting to practice at swords and bows, ride horses. 

“As children me and Cersei would sometimes exchange clothes for the day.” He returned to stand next to the chair with her discarded project. “While she played with my swords, I did her needlework.”

“You wore her gowns?” Sansa cocked her eyebrow higher but left any judgment from her face. She knew there was nothing that would have gotten any of her brothers to have wore gowns as children. 

The Kingslayer smiled, confident. He had done much worse in most men's eyes, what was it if he'd once wore a dress. He picked up the needlework and studied it. “You are very good at this. You sew clothing as well?”

“Yes.” 

Lord Jaime gave her gown a good look over with a critical eye. He nodded. “Don't trust Lord Baelish.”

Sansa kept the smile from her face. “Do you not think I know that?” 

“You're good at the game aren't you?” Jaime cocked his head. “Trained by the best, of course you would be.”

Trained by his sister herself, by Joffrey, by Petyr Baelish, even in part by her first husband Tyrion. Sansa kept her face blank. “Better than you are at it.”

He gave a half smile. “That's not saying much. As Lannisters go I'm not very good at scheming.”

Sansa knew that. He was too reckless, too impatient, too much a man of action. The reason she had agreed with Jon for Jaime Lannister to be welcomed here was that the one thing he was good at as a Lannister was war. They could use him for that. 

“You know Lord Baelish has wronged you countless times.” Lord Jaime kept his face emotionless.

Sansa nodded. “I do.” Baelish had betrayed her father in King's Landing. He'd caused her to flee the capitol on suspicion of Joffrey's murder. He'd played her against her jealous Aunt Lysa. He'd given her to Ramsey to be abused and tortured. Perhaps all to get her to this point of being strong and vulnerable as she was now. 

“Do you know what Lord Baelish wants?” Lord Jaime tilted his head. 

“I know what he wants, and I know what he wants of me.” Sansa stepped forward and kept her gaze steady and icy on Jaime. Baelish lusted after her as the image of her dead mother who he'd loved. Jaime matched her gaze, surveyed it and eventually nodded his head. 

“You're not good enough to outplay him,” Lord Jaime said. 

Sansa tilted her head, let the smallest of half smirks play on her lips before straightening them. “I don't have to win the game.” She only had to win the part that kept her and her family safe, nothing more. Jaime narrowed his eyes. “Besides, what do you care about it?”

His lips pinched. “I gave your mother an oath once to see to your safety.”

“My mother is long dead.” Sansa's face returned to ice. She knew about the oath through Brienne and her own oath. But, Sansa was not about to show the man of the house that had slaughtered her brother and mother how she felt about that. 

“Yes.” Jaime sighed. “But, Lady Catelyn was a good woman. I liked her.” He shrugged. “Even if she hated me.” He'd tried to kill Bran, Sansa could only imagine how much her mother had hated this man with his arrogance and his indifference. 

“You know I first met your mother when we were children,” Lord Jaime continued. “I was going to be betrothed to your Aunt Lysa.”

Sansa shook her head and let an amused expression barely show. 

“Can you imagine, me and Lysa Tully?” Lord Jaime shook his head, his face scrunched up. She could imagine neither of them being happy for long with the match. Jaime would have bored quickly of Lysa and Lysa would have gotten jealous of Cersei. “You did meet your Aunt Lysa?”

“I knew my Aunt Lysa, yes.” Things and a time she tried not to remember. Yet also a time when she had learned a great deal about Petyr Baelish. 

“So I visited Riverrun,” Jaime continued, “to get to know my future betrothed.”

“Aunt Lysa would have been taken by how handsome you were.” Sansa tilted her head. She could see her aunt swooning over getting a man more handsome than the Stark Catelyn had been promised. Jaime Lannister still was a handsome enough man, graying hair, missing hand and sullen expression. As a young man he must have been truly the god she'd heard in tales. 

“Of course.” He scoffed. “I,” he said, head tilted, “wanted nothing but your Uncle Brynden to tell me stories about battles and knights.”

Sansa gave him a slight smile. Yes, as a boy Jaime Lannister would have been one to love such stories, much as her brothers had.

“Littlefinger was about as well, of course,” Jaime said. “Jealous I was getting all of Lysa's attention. Not that I cared a bit about such.” He cocked his head. “Baelish was one of those little scrawny things. A head shorter than me, and I was never terribly tall as a child. He didn't really care a bit about Lysa, then or later in the capitol. He only ever had eyes for the beautiful Catelyn.”

Sansa tilted her head and said nothing so that Jaime would continue. She knew most of this, or had guessed it from actions. 

“Didn't surprise me that Baelish challenged your uncle Brandon for Catelyn, and lost as he was going to.” Jaime shrugged. “Brandon cut him groin to throat, and somehow Baelish, the weasel he is, survived.”

“I have heard the tale.” Sansa had always knew that it was not the Stark in her that Petyr liked, but the Tully. At least she was Ned's daughter and not Brandon's. That Petyr would not forgive Sansa for, being from the union of Brandon and his beloved Catelyn. 

Jaime stepped closer, until they stood a hand's width apart. “A man lives through an injury like that and he does not come out the same.” There was knowledge in Jaime Lannister's words, and Sansa made herself not look to his gold hand hanging at his side, a reminder of his own injury. “Without an army of his own, having never lifted a sword, Petyr Baelish controls one kingdom and has great influence in two others.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. Yes, Baelish controlled her cousin Robin Aryn and thus the Vale, and had strong ties to the Riverlands and now the North. “Not all battles are won with a sword.” Her voice was stern and icy. She knew how they were all just pawns in Petyr's schemes and games. 

“No.” Jaime gave a half smile and backed away. “If they were, I would not be here, would I?” 

“Thank you though, for your council, Lord Jaime.” Sansa kept her eyes cold, even if a small expression of kindness flickered on her face. 

Jaime nodded and turned to go. Sansa should have left it that, just let him go and find her brother. 

“What is your intention with Lady Brienne?” 

Jaime Lannister turned back to her, his brow furrowed. 

“She has grown very important to me,” Sansa continued in the Kingslayer's silence. Brienne would not like Sansa asking this and worrying about her managing any man. But, Sansa also knew that Brienne had a soft heart that could easily be broken, and she had seen how Brienne talked about the Kingslayer. 

“Brienne.” Lord Jaime took a few steps back to Sansa. “Brienne...” He swallowed, pinched his lips. His brow further furrowed, as if he was searching for words. The words Sansa wished to hear? They did not use titles with each other, Sansa had long ago noted the familiarity of that. 

Lord Jaime swallowed again and looked Sansa in the eye, his a dark blue-green, more open and honest than she would have thought. “Brienne... is the most important person to me still alive.” 

Sansa could not help the way her eyebrows came together in amusement. More important to him than his brother, than his sister? “She is not as... strong as her appearance gives.” Her voice was soft and truthful. Sansa had heard enough of how people talked of Brienne now, could only imagine how they might have when she was younger and even more awkward in that large lumbering body of hers. 

“I know who Brienne is.” Jaime pinched his lips together and frowned. “I know what a... soft, kind person is under that strong armor she shows the world.” He swallowed again and his gaze drifted to the floor. “I am not the good, honorable knight she thinks I am. Even if I tried to be,” he said, his gaze returned to Sansa and he shrugged, “I have spent too much of my life doing vile deeds to not fall back on such at times.”

Sansa kept her eyes on Jaime Lannister, her face blank and unreadable. His face she could almost read like a book. He cared for Lady Brienne. Neither of them had sworn any fealty to the other. Brienne had sworn herself to both her mother and Sansa, but not to this man before Sansa now. Perhaps because Brienne did not need to do so, Jaime did not either. Sansa wondered, not for the first time, what had happened between them in the Riverlands, but Sansa did not ask. 

“I can not promise I will not hurt her,” Jaime continued. “I am after all a reckless, arrogant, foolish asshole.” For a moment Sansa saw the good that Brienne might see in this man, because no man who was what Jaime Lannister just admitted to could not have some good in him. “Hurting Brienne... is the last thing that I desire to do.”

“That is good to hear.” Sansa's words sounded cold to her ears, colder than she had intended them. She swallowed lightly, pinched her lips together. “I did just wonder, given what I had heard of your... relationship.”

Jaime blinked and tilted his head. 

“What I have heard men call her,” Sansa explained. She was not going to actually name him Kingslayer aloud, even if she had heard her father had first given him the name. And she was certainly not going to call the kind and honorable Brienne a whore, whether she had bed this man or not.

“You think that I have....?” Jaime leaned back and narrowed his eyes; they were suddenly harsh and angry. “I have not...” He shook his head. 

“Bed her?” Sansa cocked her head. She had wondered herself. Brienne kept everything so private. Sansa knew the other woman's devotion to Jaime Lannister, had assumed that intimacy had been given to create such. 

“No, I have not.” He shook his head and scrunched his face in anger. “Why does everyone assume... I have fucked her?” He spat out the last. Because they were closer than many lovers Sansa knew. She had seen herself the passion filled looks Brienne and the Kingslayer exchanged. What else were people to assume? 

Jaime let out a harsh sigh. “She is a high-born lady, and as such I will never make her... the name that men have granted her.”

“That is good to know.” This time there was more warmth and relief in Sansa's voice. “Will you bed her?” Was it not only a matter of time, before Brienne at the least worked up confidence for them to do so? What would Jaime Lannister do then? Sansa could not see him making the lumbering Brienne in her armor and sword his Lady of Casterly Rock. 

Jaime cocked his head. “What business of yours is such?” He narrowed his eyes. “I do not ask, Lady Sansa, who might be sharing your bed.” 

Sansa stilled. Had she somehow given away more than she'd thought? She had forgotten that Jaime Lannister was a southern lord, a man raised on the games of King's Landing. She narrowed her own eyes, and knew that the Kingslayer knew, he knew about her and Jon. 

“You are right, it is not my business.” Sansa verbally took a step back from the issue, a sign of admission. “I am, however, gladdened to know I need not worry about Lady Brienne with you.”

Lord Jaime gave a half smirk. He had caught her lack of denial. He bowed his head. “I will be off. Go look elsewhere for your... cousin.” He had chosen that word intentionally. It was not something Jon himself was open about, but it made her actions with Jon much less vile than the Kingslayer's own with his true sister. Another bow of Jaime Lannister's head and he was away. 

#

Jon walked the walls of Winterfell. Thick flakes fell, a good storm coming on the winds from the north.   
Luckily Tormund and those who'd traveled to the wolfswood were back already. This storm would have slowed them down, and given the state of both Lady Brienne's and Bronn's injuries now another few days without a healer might have been bad for both of them. 

When Brienne had claimed direwolves saved them, Arya for the first time had stepped from the shadows of the council room to question Sansa's swornsword. Both Brienne's and Bronn's details were lacking, besides the general white with gray markings of the direwolf leader. He'd finally had to tell Arya they'd mentioned all they knew, more than they should expect given the situation. Arya frowned and Jon had heard her whisper under her breath, “Nymeria?” 

His cloak flapped open in a gust of wind and Jon let it chill him. Perhaps it would take away the heat and lust in his blood. Tonight it was not wild Arya who set him worrying, but his other 'half sister'. He knew he should stay away from being alone with Sansa. Whether his half-sister or cousin, no matter how distant they had been as children, she was blood of his blood. As much as he knew this, he returned to her, and couldn't resist kissing her, running his hands through her red locks and down her soft skin. 

“Please, Jon,” Sansa's voice had pleaded tonight. Jon had found himself on his knees before her parted legs. His lips on her most sensitive of places. His fingers had fucked her while his hand stroked his cock to release. If she wished for more, she had not asked. A small reprieve of his guilt that tonight he had not actually fucked Ned Stark's daughter. 

After, Sansa had cupped his face in her slender hand. Jon had gently kissed the haphazard lines of scars upon her inner thighs. He'd wished not for the first time to be able to kill Ramsey Snow turned Bolton again. Then he had left before he might harden again and want to properly take her. 

The clanking of metal drew his attention down to the courtyard. Two figures sword fought in the coming snow. Jon went down a flight of stairs and stopped in the shadow of a walkway. He looked down in the crisp light of a full moon to the fight below. 

The clanking rang hollow, and Jon knew it came from practice swords not actual sharpened steel. He recognized the rigid stance and proper form of the larger swordsman, not a man at all but Lady Brienne. She had seen her several times in the courtyard either practicing with others, or helping to train her former squire Podrick Payne or other new recruits. 

The other swordsman wore black and red and fought with his left. Finally, moonlight glinted off his right golden hand. The Kingslayer. Jon quietly moved closer for a better view. Lord Lannister had not once fought in public since arriving at Winterfell. He would often sit and watch others training or fighting, laughing and smirking off any attempts to get him to join. Jon had wondered if the Kingslayer could not fight at all anymore; he was often awkward using his left for many common things. Although Bronn had hinted once that he and Lord Lannister practiced in private sometimes. Whatever the Kingslayer's current ability with a sword, Jon knew why he would not want to fight before others. Men would take note, and there was no way he could ever be as great as he once was. 

The Kingslayer had proper technique and a grace born of a natural instinct with the sword. Both circled each other defensively. The Kingslayer tested an attack a few times, but nothing strong enough to tire himself out. Lannister knew how Brienne fought, which did not have come as a surprise. 

Laughter echoed from below, the Kingslayer's. “Have you still not learned how to attack, wench,” he said. “Surely your ankle is not paining you so much.”

Jon did not hear it, but could imagine Lady Brienne's huff of annoyance. She finally struck out at Lannister. He parried and circled. Lannister gave another test strike, then Brienne countered with a flurry of blows. Sparks flew in the night as Lannister blocked each. Brienne may not have attacked with her full strength, but she used both hands. One handed Lannister managed to hold her off and only gave any footing because of the snow and ice beneath his boots. 

Finally, Lannister backed away enough to regroup. He countered strongly. Brienne blocked his attempts easily enough and circled away. Brienne struck at Lannister from the right. He blocked and countered not with his sword, but a jab of his gold hand to her gut. He rammed her with his right shoulder. Brienne stumbled and Lannister struck her exposed right side with his sword strong enough to leave a bruise tomorrow. 

“You fight dirty, Jaime.” She gave a grunt as she righted herself, sword out. 

Jon could imagine the smirk on the Kingslayer's face. “It's what I have these days, a partly steady strike and dirty tricks.”

Brienne circled and struck again. This time they parried together, strike, block, a shuffle of boots in the snow back and forth. It almost looked a dance, the two of them full of grace and art. In the moonlight, with the snow surrounding them it was beautiful. True, Brienne was clearly the better and Jon could tell she held back. But, Jaime Lannister was more than a decent swordfighter, even with only his left. Maybe the stories of the Kingslayer were true, perhaps he had been one of the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms. After tonight, Jon could well believe them true. 

With a series of harsher, faster strikes, Brienne drove Lannister backwards, into the shadows around the courtyard. Laughter finally echoed. “Yield,” Lannister said. Jon leaned forward to see them better. He saw the Kingslayer lean up to kiss Lady Brienne, saw her melt into him. 

Jon shoved away and looked elsewhere. It wasn't his concern, and perhaps it was merely a kiss, not that he'd really think it. Besides, he had his own issues over women to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the next chapters are written, so for a bit updates should be faster as I trudge along with later parts.


	8. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss in the practice yard, and Jaime finally realizes about Brienne and Tormund's past.

Jaime yielded, finally. He knew the game Brienne played, knew she made sure not to beat him too badly. He wasn't sure which would hurt his ego worse, that she held back and didn't fight him equally or that she could have easily knock him on his rear. 

A slight smile still played on her face from her victory. Their breaths puffed upon their faces. Sweat beaded on her face flushed from the cold and activity. She looked glorious. Jaime smiled and leaned forward to catch her lips with his. 

Brienne moaned. Her left hand rose to grip the sweaty flesh at his neck. Jaime tilted his head and teased open her lips with his tongue. Their practice swords fell softly to the deepening snow at their feet. Her hips rolled against his and between the rush of blood from the fight and the heady scent of her surrounding him he felt himself harden. 

He turned them, her back now to the post they stood against. His hip pushed against the apex of her parted thighs. Her hand slid down his back and cupped his ass. Jaime growled as he pushed against her, swallowed her resulting moan in their kiss. He nuzzled Brienne's neck and then up to her cheek. 

“Jaime.” She pulled away as much as she could. Her blue eyes were bright in the full moonlight. 

He frowned and realized it was her right, damaged cheek he'd approached. “Do you think I care?” He had cared when she'd returned still in pain from it, needing care to not bring on a fever and infection. But, Jaime didn't care about the scar that would result. 

She frowned and tilted her head. “You have not fully seen it.”

It was on her right, so easy for him to raise his hand to it. The heat on his fingertips as he touched the bandage was not just from their fight. He lifted the bandage, practice keeping his face blank, his eyes steady. The flesh had been ripped away to muscle and sinew. A red angry gash had been left in its wake. In time a thick scar would grow and eventually lighten and look less angry. But yes, her cheek would remain marred for life, and it would do nothing for the limited beauty she already held. 

“All good knights have scars,” he said. 

Her frown pulled at the angry wound. “Most are not so... prominent.”

Jaime sighed, which let out a puff of breath in the cold. The snow thickened around them. His sweaty flesh grew chilled. Words, the stubborn wench, never believed words no matter how charming and truthful his were. He leaned up and placed the most gentle of kisses on the wound. He pulled back and Brienne eyed him. He kissed her again, at the boundary of the wound and her reddened fair skin close to the edge of his lips. 

When he pulled away again, Brienne shivered in his grip. She swallowed. Jaime's heart hammered in his chest. He wasn't sure if she was going to hit him or cry or kiss him. He decided for her by placing his lips on hers. He cupped her wounded cheek. She fisted his hair. Brienne devoured his mouth with a ferociousness that made him shiver. Lust shot through his gut and hardened his cock. 

“Lord Commander.” A throat cleared and then his squire, Kywin, repeated his words, “Lord Commander.”

Jaime pulled away from Brienne. Her eyes wide with surprise, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her eyes shot with lust. Jaime swallowed, “yes,” he managed to say. 

“I didn't mean to... interrupt, my lord.” Jaime glanced over his shoulder to see Kywin run the tip of his boot in the deepening snow. Jaime's hand recovered Brienne's wounded cheek with the bandage so the boy wouldn't see it. 

Jaime cleared his throat, hoped he didn't look the sight he thought he might. He turned to his side, cold air rushing to the space where Brienne had nestled against him. “What is it, Kywin?”

“Storm's coming...”

“Yes.” Jaime tilted his head down to the boy. Beside him, Brienne shifted further away to his side and behind him. 

“Lord Marbrand has suggested we made sure the horses are secured from the snow and cold.” Kywin bit at his lower lip, but made sure to look Jaime in the eyes, Kywin's a beautiful hazel. 

“Yes.” Jaime nodded. “Have Marbrand get started, I'll be along in a bit, Kywin.” He tilted his head with the order, kept his voice light. 

Kywin glanced between Jaime and Brienne, but said and asked nothing. “Yes, my lord.” The boy turned and headed off to relay the message. 

Jaime turned to Brienne and leaned his head up to whisper in her ear, “Saved by the squire, or perhaps cursed.” He shrugged. Where would that kiss have led? 

Brienne sighed and bent to pick up their swords. “He's a cousin, your squire?” Given the boy's golden hair, hazel eyes and beauty there wasn't much doubt of that. 

“A Lannister, yes.” Jaime nodded. 

Brienne placed the swords back on a rack. “Kywin, is that his name?”

“I have never been so glad for a consonant before than in the use in his name.” Jaime smirked, then she turned back to him, her eyes still shot with lust, her lips pink from kissing. His heart sped back up. “Thanks, for...” He shrugged. “It's always nice to have a sword back in my hand.” 

She nodded, her gaze steady and uncertain, her face flushed. Jaime thought about kissing her, at least goodbye. But if he stepped back into her arms, he would care less about his duties, about his men waiting for him. 

“Do you need help?” Her voice was shaky. 

Jaime shook his head. “No. Get in out of the cold.” She didn't need to risk her wounds leading to fever. 

She nodded once, said nothing, and they parted ways. 

#

Laughter filled the empty dining hall. Snow fell thick outside and the drifts had grown several feet high in the last day. Jaime hadn't ever seen so much snow in his life and if he didn't have to be out in it he actually thought it was rather pretty. All that snow also meant extra time on their hands holed up inside until the storm passed. 

Tormund took another big gulp of the wine Jaime had supplied and took a deep look at the blood red liquid. “You can't tell me people get drunk on this grape water.”

Jaime shrugged. “You drink enough of it.” He'd had a few ales already, Northern ales that were stronger than the ones down south. Add in a glass of wine and he felt foggy and tingly and almost wanted to keep drinking to get properly drunk. “King Robert could down wine by the barrel and I didn't see him sober for that last decade of his life.” 

Tormund looked deep into his mug, almost empty now. “Blood red, but no fire in it  
.”

“The blood red, I think that's why my sister likes it.” Jaime laughed alone at his joke. That and how it made her numb to the world. 

“The sister you fucked babes into?” Tormund finished the last of the wine and refilled his mug with ale.

“He only has one sister.” Podrick looked drunk, rubby faced and watery eyed. 

Bronn laughed. “That's about the only woman in Westeros I wouldn't fuck. Your sister.” He pointed a finger at Jaime. 

Jaime narrowed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to fuck Cersei either, but to deny her would have only caused trouble. Not that what they'd done recently felt anything like fucking, it felt like being used like payment to keep the peace in King's Landing and between them. 

“Doubt there were many men who'd chance her fury 'cept you in tha end.” Bronn laughed and shook his head. 

“I thought you and Cersei were done?” Brienne frowned. 

Jaime paused, because him being done with Cersei had not meant she was done with him, or that he could deny her if he wished to stay alive. “It's... when have things not been complicated with Cersei.” He pinched his lips and thought for a moment. “Maybe when we were twelve.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes, but said nothing else. She was the most sober of them all. There to be a watchful eye more than take part in their drinking. The bandage still covered her ruined cheek, though smaller today. Perhaps it was slowly healing, not that Brienne would enjoy the day it was the wound and not the bandage she presented to the world. 

“This is why ya need a good whore,” Bronn told Jaime. “There's this blonde in town, long curls.” He leered. “I'd fuck her and pretend she's the old Queen.”

Jaime gave his man-at-arms a blank look. Did he really think he was interested in some whore that looked like Cersei? He couldn't glance at Brienne and think about the heat of their kiss last night, what he really wanted. 

“Whore?” Tormund cocked his head. “You pay for such women? Why would a real man need to do that?”

“The way whoring works, you pay, they fuck,” Bronn said. “Unless you're Pod which his magic cock.” He laughed. 

“A whore?” Brienne shook her head. “You have a wife, Lord Bronn.”

“Aye, I do.” Bronn nodded, too deeply because of the drink. “A gorgeous and fiery Lannister one, with my babe in her belly even.” He chuckled. “But she's in Casterly Rock, far away, and my cock grows lonely.”

Brienne scoffed. 

“You couldn't go a fortnight without putting you cock in some part of a woman.” Jaime sighed and gulped down the last of his wine. 

“You puttin' coin on that?” Bronn cocked his head. “I'd try if there's money in it.”

Jaime shook his head. “You'd do about anything if there's coin involved.” He liked the man and hopefully had bought some of his loyalty. At least Bronn had not left him alone with Cersei in King's Landing. Besides Brienne and his young cousin squire, Bronn and his bought loyalty was all he had to watch his back in the world now. 

“You want a woman, you take her.” Tormund nodded and downed more ale. 

“And what would I do with all these women after I take 'em?” Bronn frowned. “'Cause ain't many women I'd not fuck.”

“Except his sister.” Tormund gestured with his newly filled tankard at Jaime. Ale spilled over the edges of the vessel. 

Bronn laughed, voice deep and head back. Jaime sneered and gave a half growl. He thought about taking his gold hand and knocking the smile off the fucking sellsword's face. Bronn smiled. “We offend you Lord?” 

Jaime thought about the bloody lip his gold hand would give, wide red mark on Bronn's rough face. Maybe break that ugly nose of his again. But, he needed the man. So, Jaime swallowed down his anger with another large gulp of ale. 

“See, and then he gets all sullen.” Bronn leaned across the table to say this to Tormund, although the whole table heard. 

It only deepened Jaime's sullenness. “Would you prefer I get violent instead?” He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes. His fingers clenched around the handle of his ale tankard.

“Aye, I might.” Bronn nodded. “Maybe it's a good fight ya need, not a fuck.” His face did that half lifting thing it did when he made a suggestion. 

A good fight, Jaime thought to his fight the other night with Brienne. Problem was he couldn't really fight anymore, not really with just his left hand. Even with Brienne she weakened her blows and slowed her moves to not embarrass him. It'd been a long time since he'd found joy in fucking either. 

With a plop Pod fell face first into the table. Bronn let out another big laugh at the sight. “Leave the southron boy alone,” Tormund said, words slurred. 

Jaime's eyes met Brienne's as she took a light sip of her ale. Bronn was joking she should take the boy -- not so much really a boy anymore -- back to his room. Brienne tightened her lips, judged them all. They likely looked a sight with ruby cheeks and jagged motions and too loud voices. 

“I should stay,” she said. 

“Make sure we come t' no harm?” Bronn raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Her eyes bore into Bronn's until he smiled and laughed again. 

Jaime downed the last of his ale and poured himself another. The world was growing fuzzy and warm. He thought maybe he could get drunk enough to fall into a nice dream, a dream of Brienne's long legs and pale skin, soft and slight curves underneath him writhing as he pleasured her. He blinked as the woman he thought of stared at him, hopefully not knowing his thoughts. Best not to think such yet, it's only get him hard. 

He glanced to his side and caught sight of Tormund leering at Brienne. Jaime drew back, blinked and refocused his eyes. Yes, the wildling was leering, with lust, at Brienne. Jaime looked to her, expecting to find exasperation on her face. Instead, Jaime paused. Because there was acceptance in Brienne's eyes, the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips and a slight shake to her head. His heart plummeted as Jaime realized and recognized the familiarity he had missed earlier, her new-found confidence making complete sense now. 

“You fucked him.” The words spilled from Jaime's lips before he thought. Brienne turned to look at Jaime. “You fucked him,” he repeated to her, his face scrunched up. 

“Jaime.” Brienne raised a hand, perhaps to still the anger Jaime knew was raising in him. Bronn leaned clumsily forward, worry on his face. Curses, looked like the sellsword had already known, had everyone been laughing behind his back that he hadn't? 

“This is what I saved your maidenhead for.” Jaime's voice rose. He turned to the large wildling and knew the anger he'd see in the other man's eyes. “This... great bearded brute.” 

“Jaime.” Brienne's voice held warning and concern. 

“I made sure you were left a maid for this?” Jaime sneered as he glanced to the reddening face of Tormund. “Just look at that beard.” He turned back to Brienne. “Although perhaps you have a thing for beards?” He cocked his head and glanced at Tormund. 

Brienne tightened her lips, and tensed across the table. She was not sure Jaime's joking words would save him from the wildling, Jaime saw that much in her look. 

“If you wanted her, ya should have taken her.” Tormund's voice boomed, his face inches from Jaime's. 

Jaime tightened his lips. Taken her? He thought of their shared nakedness in the Harrenhal baths after he'd fainted, and the arousal it'd caused him. He thought of the ache as he sent her on her way looking for the Stark girls. He thought of his joy at seeing her at Riverrun, and the sorrow when she'd headed back North. His chest heaved. 

“Taken her?” He sneered. “She's not a woman for anyone to take.” Wasn't that part of what he loved about her, Jaime thought, that she was her own woman, not a lady to be traded or sold or taken?

“I took her.” Tormund leered, his mouth set in a smug smile. 

Jaime didn't think, he whipped up his gold hand and swung it across Tormund's face. The wildling's face knocked backwards and blood dripped from his lip into his bright red beard. He smiled still. 

Tormund pushed with both hands against Jaime's chest. Jaime tumbled backwards, chair and all. He rolled as he hit the ground and found his feet back under him. Tormund shoved his own chair back to stand. Jaime prepared to use his flexed thighs to ram a left gab under Tormund's jaw. 

“Enough,” Brienne yelled. She was around the table, standing between them. Bronn had stumbled to his feet as well. 

Jaime stood and narrowed his eyes at the wildling. His anger wasn't really with the man who had taken what Jaime had thought his. Partly it was with Brienne who hadn't informed him there could be another. Mostly it was with Jaime's own stupidity for thinking Brienne would for some reason save herself for him. 

Tormund growled, but paused, a careful eye on Brienne. Bronn cocked his head, amusement on his face. Jaime should say something, anything, but he didn't want to. He kicked his chair, grabbed his cloak, turned on his heel and shoved open the doors to exit into the blizzard outside.


	9. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime sobers enough to realize his anger was foolish.

Jaime shrugged deeper into his cloak. The wind whipped angry, wild and freezing cold around him. He'd tucked himself into a corner to shield himself enough from the storm's wrath to withstand even being outside. Flakes fell so big and thick around him he could barely see a few feet in front of his face. Which is why Brienne was almost on him before he noticed her.

“You should come in from the cold.” Her face solid in the blurring flakes. 

He frowned at her. “I'm not cold enough to freeze yet.”

“Are you sober enough to know that, Jaime?” She stepped closer, into the cover from his corner and raised an eyebrow. 

He shrugged. “Sober enough.” Not sober, no, but the cold had leeched enough of the wine and ale. 

The space was tight and Brienne's shoulder touched his. Their breaths frosted together in the fury of the storm. 

“I could not ask you to save yourself for me,” he said, loud enough she could hear his words in the wind. It still barely reached his ears. “I have after all spent most of the last few years with Cersei in one way or the other.” He shrugged against her shoulder. “I can't fault you for finding someone else.”

“Do you want to know why?” She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. Flakes whirled between them. 

“Does it matter?” He narrowed his eyes. 

“I mean to be no man's wife, but I was curious about... about what can exist between a man and woman.” The steady wind softened her voice. “Wildlings – the Free Folk – value women for strength. Warrior women are common.”

“So he found himself a southern lady knight, and it impressed him?” Jaime almost smirked, almost, because wasn't that part of why he himself desired her? Brienne, his lady knight, more honorable and knightly than most of the real knights he'd ever known. 

“Tormund.” Brienne sighed. She spoke his name with reverence and Jaime swallowed as his gut twisted with anger. “Tormund thinks I'm beautiful, and part giant, and a great fighter.”

“Not sure about the giant part,” Jaime said with a shrug, “but the rest is true. I have told you that you're beautiful, haven't I?” He narrowed his eyes, because he had surely thought it, not in the usual gorgeous way Cersei held, but as a woman and person, Brienne held an unusual beauty. He had thought so perhaps since first meeting her, but had he not also spoken it to her? 

She shook and tilted her head, her eyes on his. “No, you have not.”

Jaime gave a half smile. “I should have. I should have told you I loved you too.” He pinched his lips. “Although I didn't realize it yet, then couldn't voice it.” Instead he'd voiced his love for his sister quite a bit in Riverrun, perhaps because it was waning more than he'd realized at the time. 

“I do not love Tormund,” came her flat reply. Jaime darted his gaze to her. His breath caught a bit. “I wanted the experience, but I was honest with him that I... I already loved another.”

He chuckled at that, at the imagine of Brienne telling the wildling she wanted to fuck but held no feelings for him. It drew a frown from Brienne. “He treated you well, I assume,” he said.

Brienne nodded, still a frown on her face. “He did, and after the first time it was very... pleasing.”

Jaime chuckled again, because here they were discussing her fucking another man with a snow storm blazing around them. “Let's get out of this storm.” 

He grabbed her wrist and tugged her into a small room, almost an alcove itself. It had been burned inside and recently rebuilt. Jaime's doing. He smelt the fresh scent of new wood over even the chill of snow as he swung closed the door.

“Did I not tell you before we should get out of the snow?” Brienne shook her head at his stubbornness. Jaime kept silent, but figured the stubborn wench could use some of her own usual doing. “Is this the sept?” She cocked her head. 

“It was. It's private at least.” Jaime ran a hand on the stone remains of one of the seven shelves which had once held a statue of a god. “I had it repaired to see what size statues need to be sent from the south.”

She cocked her head further. She hadn't thought his words earlier were true, or else she thought it a waste of his money to repair something perhaps only she would use. But then, this sept had been built for the use of only one woman once, Catelyn. 

“You said you had been done with Cersei.” Brienne tilted her head and stared down at him. 

“I was done with her, or wanted to be, when I returned from Riverrun.” He shook his head. “But...” He scrunched up his face. Jaime remembered being fucked, being used. Cersei cared only about her own pleasures, which she'd taken from his mouth, his cock and his ass. How was he to explain to the woman before him he'd let his sister fuck his ass with a steel cock, possibly so she could be the man she'd always wanted to be? 

“Was I to throw another at her abuses?” Jaime hadn't been about to allow Cersei to abuse another man or a maiden. Not because of his jealousy, but because he couldn't be a part in her hurting another person, not anymore. 

“Abuses?” Brienne lifted an eyebrow, tilted her head. 

“I...” Jaime swallowed and straightened himself up. “Whatever Cersei did to me, I allowed her to do.” He went to her willingly, knowingly. He was not some maiden the Queen had used. He was a man, strong and able even if crippled. 

Brienne gave a nod. She looked concerned, but thankfully did not ask him to clarify or show him pity. She remained the person he could confess the most to, a companion without all the rivalry she'd have were she a man. 

“You still love her?” Brienne's voice was soft, almost only a whisper. 

“Love her, hate her. She's as good as dead either way.” He shrugged. 

“You tried to save her?” Brienne tilted her head. 

“She didn't want me to save her.” Jaime frowned. “But, of course I tried.” Just as he had tried to save all his family, and failed them all. 

“I love you, Jaime.” He noticed how her chest rose and fell more, the slight flush that was not only because of the cold. 

“I know. I have known for a long time.” His words were flat, truthful. Her lips pinched together and he wondered if she was thinking how she'd been a silly maid in love with a knight, how of course her love for him was obvious to all. 

“I am no longer a maid.” She cocked her head. 

“You've said.” Jaime leaned his head back and looked at her. How had be not seen her confidence before? Not in herself as a warrior, but the confidence in herself as a woman. She'd not been his silly maid since he got up north, not that he'd seen it. “Your maidehead...” He frowned and sighed. Not that he deserved to say it, but her maidenhead had been precious to him, something he had wanted her to give to him. 

“Was mine.” Brienne looked ready to defend her actions, of course, but he could see guilt in her eyes. She was correct though, it had been her virginity, hers to keep or give away. Besides what did he really know about trying to keep something like that? 

“Twelve,” Jaime said. Brienne cocked her head. “Not the first time Cersei and I truly kissed, or the first time we touched each other.” He kept his gaze on her. “We were twelve the first time we.... fucked.” 

He still remembered it, pressing into her, his pants unlaced, her skirts rucked up to her waist. Fumbling to be in her, and it feeling so right and good. He'd lasted about three thrusts, had to use his hands to give her the pleasure his cock hadn't. Of course, by then he was hard again, ready to try and please her better. Hot days of summer while they hung somewhere between childhood and beyond. Sometimes he wondered if they'd ever made it past those foolish summer days, even as the years aged them. 

Brienne just looked at him. Both he and Cersei had been silly children caught up in feelings he now no longer thought were the truth either of them had thought then. 

“Tormund thinks everyone is a silly maid their first time,” Brienne finally said, her voice quiet. 

Jaime wanted to but did not frown at the other man's words being repeated. Although the wildling might have something. Why could Brienne have not been just as foolish as Jaime had been? 

“Other women... you have not...?” Brienne pinched her lips and blushed at what she could not manage to ask. Had Cersei been his only? Although she'd been there when he'd once told Lady Catelyn exactly that. 

“You are the only one I have kissed besides her,” Jaime answered. She cocked her head. Kissed did not mean no whores. He frowned. “And whores...” He had tried. Once he'd believed a whore betrayed the vows he'd said to Cersei, not that she'd ever given him such vows back. Lately, Bronn had tried, more than once. There was something fake about it. Why did he want a woman he felt nothing for? He'd rather his own hand, at least he cared for the hand remaining to him. He shook his head finally. “While I may have paid them coin for their time, I have never really been with a whore.”

She just tilted her head and looked at him. If thoughts ran through her head, she did not share them. 

Jaime smirked. “Do you really have a thing for beards?” Bronn was likely right that Jaime did prefer blondes, why not Brienne beards. 

Brienne tightened her lips and gave him an exasperated look. 

Jaime rubbed his own short beard. He'd thought of trimming it, or even shaving, but perhaps... “Should I grow mine out?” 

“Lanky dirty hair, a thick beard and rags,” Brienne softly said, “it is hard to think of you in anything else.”

He scoffed. Not in his finery and arrogance, polished gold and flawless armor, but Jaime Lannister at his lowest, that was who she had fallen in love with years ago, perhaps Jaime Lannister at his best. What did he say to that? “I should... I'm sure it will be another long day of boredom tomorrow.”

“The storm will break overnight,” Brienne stated with the sureness of someone already used to winter in the North. “We will wake to a great deal of needed shoveling.” 

Jaime winced. “Then, I certainly need to get to bed. These old bones of mine aren't used to such hard work.” 

It was partly a joke and Brienne scoffed at it. “Good night, Jaime.”

He meant to leave, but instead found himself stepping up to her. He leaned his head to her face and almost kissed her lips. He turned at the last moment and gave her unblemished cheek a gentle kiss. Pulling back he whispered, “Good night, Brienne.” Then he was away, tramping through the almost knee-high drifts of snow back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Cersei's abuses does seem too kinky. I think it matches with her character in this and the changing dynamic between Jaime/Cersei that proceeds the fic. Steel seemed more sanity than wood and matches with how Cersei replaced his hand. 
> 
> The age of twelve for Jaime and Cersei's first time is made up. I know the books hint at earlier, and that by twelve Jaime was off being trained as a squire. But, going with the show's aging up twelve was what I settled on.


	10. Tales of the Riverlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne share the tale of their past.

The morning found the world quiet and covered with a deep blanket of pristine snow. Brienne would think it a glorious sight, the pale blue sky above and the dawn's light glimmering off the purest white, were it not for the knowledge that now they must unbury themselves. So, she dressed in her warmest clothes, donned fur lined boots, left her armor off and took her thick fur cloak. She gathered with the others King Jon commanded in the Great Hall. By noon they had done most of the work, and worked up a good sweat and appetite. 

Brienne sat at a table in the dining hall eating lunch, warm mutton stew. Jon, Davos, Tormund and Pod all sat with her. Sansa joined them, taking a seat opposite her half-brother now cousin. Jaime and Bronn entered. Bronn loudly protested the cold and the snow and the cursed North. Bronn plopped on a seat beside Pod and Jaime sat next to him, across from Brienne. 

Jaime tugged a wet glove from his hand and then laid his gold hand in his lap to unstrap it. He dumped snow from inside it and laid his stump in his lap. Brienne knew he rubbed at the stump and she hoped the cold steel of his gold hand would not damage what remained of his right arm. 

Davos glanced between Brienne, Tormund and Jaime. Tormund and Jaime continued to avoid looking at each other, as they had done all morning. Brienne was done feeling guilty, to either man. But awkwardness hung when all three were together and she wondered when or if that would ever ease. 

“Lady Brienne,” Davos asked, “what is your history with Lord Jaime? How did you two... come to respect each other so much?”

“Respect? Is that what we have?” Jaime raised an eyebrow at Brienne. 

“It's rather simple really.” Brienne kept her face neutral, although she could not look away from Jaime. “We saved each others' lives, more than once. Nothing more.”

“Yes.” Jaime nodded. “I saved your life, you saved mine, twice – we are counting saving me from being the first Lannister to drown in the bath, right? – then I saved you from the bear.” Jaime bent to spoon in some of the stew a serving girl had brought him. 

Brienne tightened her lips not really wanting to explain how they might have ended up in a bath together for her to save him. She had always thought that memory theirs alone, tucked into her mind with a deep fondness. 

“Ah, tell us about the bear at Harrnehal?” Tormund asked. “Heard ya was naked, trapped with a bear fixed on rippin' you apart.”

“Naked? I surely don't remember that part of the tale.” Jaime cocked his head and Brienne frowned. “She wore a gown. Do you remember that horrible gown they'd given you? With the ratty fur trim. Dingy pink and it didn't quite gather at the chest.” He motioned to where breasts would be were he a woman. “Built for a man I suppose.” Jaime paused and smirked. “Am I already getting the story wrong?”

“Yes.” Brienne pinched her lips. Then she told the story properly. Of Locke and his men, of how they only wanted fun from her and didn't care how long she lived doing it. Who knows where the bear had come from, but they'd lowered her into the pit to fight it. Given her nothing but a wooden tourney sword to defend herself, in the horrible gown and slippers that stuck in the wet mud. How Jaime had been away already but returned for her, perhaps repaying that debt that keeping his word to Lady Catelyn was not enough payment for. He'd of course offered gold first, trying to buy her. But Locke hadn't cared for gold and riches, he wanted his fun and no gold would be payment enough. 

“So I jumped into the pit with her,” Jaime said, “and shoved her behind me.”

“One-handed, unarmed, dressed in rags and still half fevered. Foolishness, Jaime.” Brienne shook her head at his folly. 

Jaime smirked. “I have always been a fool.” 

“Then you fought the bear by hand?” Tormund leaned forward upon the table. 

Brienne shook her head and had to inform Tormund they had instead just escaped the bear. Although narrowly on Jaime's part and with some mauling on hers, scars he had already seen. But, foolish as Jaime had been, he'd known the men tasked with returning him would have killed the bear before letting Jaime be killed by it, and thus saved Brienne as well. 

“You climbed out of the pit one-handed?” Sansa tilted her head. 

“One hand, two feet and an arm at least.” Jaime shrugged. 

“Then you took her?” Tormund asked. 

Jaime cocked his head. “Well.. I said she was going with me.”

“And they just let you take her?” Jon asked. 

Jaime shrugged. “Yes.”

“With one hand and no weapon, you just took her as yours?” Tormund narrowed his eyes. 

Jaime furrowed his brow. Brienne wanted to say there was more to it than that, but had there been more? She herself had never before thought about it, how this would count for a wildling as Jaime having taken her to bed and wed her in their manner. 

“Suppose,” Jaime finally managed. 

Tormund let out a loud booming laugh, head bent back and eyes squinted. The table all looked at him a bit worried. Brienne especially did not want to know if that laugh might be bad for Jaime. “You've got one set o' stones on you, don't ya, Lannister?” Tormund continued to laugh. 

Jaime paused for a moment to take in what the wildling said, then a wide smirk crossed his face. “The best set in all the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. 

“Arrogance, Jaime. It's called arrogance.” Brienne frowned at both men. 

“You said you saved Brienne twice?” Sansa asked. 

Brienne meet Jaime's eyes, his as unsure as her own. “No one tells you that tale, of how I saved her maidenhead and life,” Jaime said. 

“Have you ever told anyone?” Brienne lifted an eyebrow. It had been theirs, the fate he saved her from. 

He shook his head. “Locke and his men were a rough lot. They hadn't seen a woman in a while and none had been with a high-born woman.” He paused, tightened his lips. He looked at only Brienne. “They were going to rape her, any that wanted her that first night. She would have fought them, nobly but... they would have killed her.” He swallowed. “So, I told Locke she was from Tarth, the sapphire isle. That all the sapphires on Westeros were mined from Tarth, and her father would pay her weight in them, if only she was returned...”

“Unbesmirched,” Brienne used the same pompous word he had used long ago. 

“Unbesmirched?” He scrunched his face. “Is that really the word I used?” Brienne did not answer, because it had been. Jaime and his carelessness with words had just used the one that came to mind not thinking how arrogant it had made him seem, how it might have raised dislike in Locke. 

“So, Locke spared her.” Jaime shrugged. 

“Tarth is rich?” Tormund cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Brienne tightened her lips and gave Jaime a hard look. “Tarth is an island of forest and waterfalls in the Stormlands. While it has a vast history, it is not necessarily important now. It's full of sheep and kind people and surrounded by crystal clear waters of the most brilliant blue. That is why Tarth is called the sapphire isle.”

“I came back and saved you from the bear for that lie.” Jaime frowned. Because he had saved her in part because his lie had made Locke think her worth more than her father could have ever spared. 

“Yes you did.” She nodded. “You also took away their entertainment the night you saved me.” She'd known as they'd returned her to her bonds that there would be payment for what he had done. “They...” Jaime tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. 

It seemed only them at the table. For none of this was anything the two of them had ever discussed. But, Brienne could not manage to say what was on her lips to voice. 

“They...?” Jaime stared at her and seemed to finally catch her own thoughts. “My saving you had nothing to do with my hand.” He shook his head. “Arrogance and my smart mouth lost me my hand, to a man who reveled in taking what was most important to me.”

Brienne only stared at Jaime. Because all that had been part of it, but he had lost his hand for saving her. She owed him everything for what he paid for her safety that night. A debt she had long realized she would never be able to repay. Jaime titled his head at her silence and Brienne could not voice what she knew to be the truth. 

“You said Brienne rescued you twice, Lord Jaime,” Sansa said, drawing Jaime's attention away from Brienne and to her. “What was the second?” 

Jaime looked back to Brienne. The side of his mouth tugged into the resigned look she had seen too often since he'd come north. “Who do you think convinced me to live after they'd taken what defined me?” Jaime Lannister, the greatest swordsman in Westeros, Kingslayer, Kingsguard, protector of his brother and sister, all of that had been because of the hand Locke took. 

“For vengeance?” Davos nodded his head. 

“Do I look a vengeful man?” Jaime cocked his head. 

“Then, why?” Sansa's voice was soft. Jaime looked to her, stared at her blue eyes, the eyes of her mother. 

Brienne assumed Jaime would shrug it off, say something smart that wasn't at all an answer. He shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to see if the rest of me could be better than the hand that had done such vile deeds.” 

“Locke?” Jon said. “Pointed chin, goatee and slightly odd accent, right?” 

Together Jaime and Brienne turned to Jon with narrowed eyes. “Yes,” Brienne answered. 

Jon told them of the fate of Locke, north of the Wall at Craster's keep, his head almost turned backwards from his body. Jaime just made a “hmm,” sound at the end, because he'd been truthful, he wasn't particularly a vengeful man.

“Not sure what he was doing in the Night's Watch,” Jon said. 

“He was a tracker,” Jaime said. “He was looking for Bran and Rickon.” Jon cocked his head and frowned. Luckily whatever had happened to Locke did so before he had found the young Starks. Brienne had never thought of that, but perhaps with Locke as a tracker on their trail they had always been cursed to be found. 

“Back to it?” Bronn asked. 

Jaime nodded and shoveled in some more of the stew. “If I never see snow again, I think it might be too soon.”

“This winter's just started,” Tormund said. A knowing smile to the southerners on his lips. 

“Don't fucking remind me.” Bronn frowned. “Running away to the Summer Isles is looking more and more temptin'.”

Brienne noticed Jaime had a piece of fur to line the inside of his gold hand. Perhaps he was more prepared for the cold than she might have taken him. The rest of them geared up too, added layers of clothing and gloves, ready to face the cold damp of the snow again. She paused at the door beside Jaime. Had they revealed too much of each other, of their past? Jaime himself seemed okay with what they'd said. Brienne hoped that perhaps if nothing else the others understood more where the connection between her and Jaime came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, while writing this it struck me how Tormund might see Jaime taking Brienne from Harrenhal as the beginning of a marriage in their style, even though he didn't really steal her.
> 
> I'm not sure how much of their story Jaime and Brienne might really share with others, but perhaps once they started finally talking about it, they would just keep going.


	11. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime should have thought, or spoken, or -- He was out of his chair, to hers and half in her lap. His lips crushed against hers. But, things are never as simple as only first times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally smut. Hopefully it lives up to getting here.

Jaime found himself knocking on Brienne's door later that night. Her room was not quite as big as his own. It was near Sansa's room and the Lord's chambers that Jon slept in. Jaime wondered if it had once belonged to another of the Stark children. Still it held a small table and two chairs in one corner. That is where Brienne directed him. 

“I've no wine or ale,” Brienne said. She had only a woolen undertunic and pants on. Her light hair still slightly damp from a bath to clean the sweat of a day's long work off. Her fire burned bright and warm, heating the smaller room well. 

Jaime shook his head as he sat. “I don't need wine or ale.” He frowned. “Am I really so sullen, Brienne?” Bronn mentioned that all the time, enough Jaime knew it to be true.

Brienne tightened her lips. “More so than I have seen you before. Yes.” She nodded. 

Jaime sighed and slumped down in his chair. “What do I have to be happy about?” His list of things to be unhappy about was a sleeve long, at least. 

Brienne shook her head. “I do not know, Jaime.” He frowned at that. He couldn't really remember the last time he had been happy, truly happy. Had he ever been? 

“Do you like being here in the North, Brienne?” He cocked his head. 

Brienne tilted her head. “I like that I am doing something for the good of the Realm, something to protect mankind.” She paused and looked at him a moment. “Is that not why you've come as well?”

“'Raised to Lord Commander by King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name',” Jaime quoted. “'Removed from the Kingsguard by King Tommen Baratheon, first of his name, for treason against the crown and High Septon'.” He frowned. “The rest of my rather limited entry in 'The Book of Brothers' in the White Tower.” Brienne frowned but said nothing. “At least there's no mention of being captured by Robb Stark and losing my hand.” He shrugged. There was so little to have claimed for his life. It made him think some days his father had been right and he'd wasted it on kings that didn't deserve him. 

“I love you, Jaime. Am I not supposed to be concerned when you are sad?” She tilted her head and gave him an exasperated look. Jaime almost smiled at that. Brienne, still as stubborn as even. 

“What are you offering to do? Fuck away my gloominess?” Jaime couldn't keep the smirk from his lips. 

Brienne sighed. “Must you be so crude?” 

“I'm not good at being elegant in these situations.” Jaime shrugged. “More a man of action.” He and Cersei had never talked about the relationship they'd had. They would have already fucked, in the godswood, in the burned sept, who knows where else. 

“Then act.” Brienne turned a hardened gaze from her brilliant blue eyes on him. 

Jaime cocked his head, blinked. Was she telling him to fuck her? Brienne tilted her head, waiting. He should have thought, or spoken, or -- 

He was out of his chair, to hers and half in her lap. His lips crushed against hers. Brienne pulled back to look at him. Too fast, Jaime thought as his heart hammered in his chest. But, Brienne tugged his head back to hers and captured his lips with her own. 

Jaime tugged her out of the chair, because he was not managing their awkward angle for long. They stumbled backwards to her bed, hands shedding layers of clothing as fast as possible. Boots and belts hit the floor. Brienne tore at the fastenings of his jerkin and he shrugged it off. His hand loosened her laces, and both hands shoved her pants down her long legs. She lifted his tunic over his head and undid his laces to free his hard cock. Her hands flattened on his stomach and ran up his chest. Her long fingers traced old scars and fresh pink ones from the battle for King's Landing. His hand roamed up her sides and both hands pulled her tunic over her head. Her small, firm breasts were as he remembered. Jaime kneaded one with his hand, and took the pert pink nipple of the other in his mouth. Brienne arched her back and moaned.

Brienne turned them and pushed Jaime until his legs hit the back of the bed. He smirked, the action swallowed by her kiss. He used his feet to shed himself of his pants and short clothes. He sat on the bed and scooted backwards, Brienne's strong hands on his chest, her capturing kisses on his lips. She tugged at the straps to his gold hand and tossed it from the bed once she'd removed it. 

His hand slid down her body and between her thighs. Jaime parted her wet folds. One of her hands wrapped around his cock, the other pushed him to lay beneath her. She slid forward up his thighs and straddled his waist. She was wet and hot on his cock and Jaime couldn't help thrusting up against her. Brienne released his lips with a shaky sigh, while Jaime's teeth pulled on her lower lip. She rose to sitting. For a moment they ground their bodies together, his cock moving against her wet folds. 

Then, Brienne lifted herself, and holding his cock steady, sunk down onto him. Jaime threw back his head and moaned. Maybe he should thank the wildling because this confident woman was not the shy maid who'd rode away from King's Landing. 

One hand flat on his chest, the other pinching her nipples, Brienne rode him. She was a powerful weight above him and he couldn't have resisted even if he'd wanted to. No use denying that he liked commanding women. 

“Gods, Brienne,” he moaned. His hand and stump tugged her hips closer to him. He'd never been with Cersei without his gold hand. His stump had less reach but surprisingly more control. 

She lowered her gaze to his, her brilliant blue eyes shot with desire. It'd been too long since he'd done this with love in his chest. Jaime rose his hips to meet Brienne's thrusts. His hand slid to their joining, his fingers on her clit. Her nails dug into his sides as she used them to leverage herself harder against him. She threw back her head. Her mouth fell open, her eyes unfocused. Her hips pounded against him as she clenched her release around his cock. Jaime tightened his jaw, his breath shallow and his chest aching as he fought off his own release. 

Brienne slumped forward, her short hair falling before her eyes. Jaime surged forward, his arms wrapping around her, and flipped her onto her back, her head near the foot of the bed. She gasped with surprise, at his move and then at the knowledge he was still hard. He smirked and started to thrust into her. He'd meant to make his pace slow, measured, but he needed this, needed her. 

His hips slammed into hers. He propped himself with his stump, the fingers of his hand gripped the sweaty and slippery skin of her thigh. Brienne moved with him, her own hips lifting him with her eagerness. His mind slipped to thoughts of Cersei, this was nothing like fucking her. The strength in Brienne was so different, and the care in her actions something Cersei had never given him. 

Brienne wrapped her long, strong thighs around Jaime's hips. Her legs tugged their bodies together. She lay with her head back, eyes half lidded, skin flushed a bright pink. His mumbled name spilled from her lips. Curse the Seven, he was not going to last much longer, no matter how much he wanted to keep pleasing her. His fingers found her clit, trying to drag out her release before he couldn't resist his own. 

Jaime felt his balls pull tight, his cock swell into her moisture. Her legs had him in a vise. He needed to pull out, make sure not to put a bastard into her, and couldn't with her hold on him. “Brienne, I... can't... finish in you,” he somehow managed to say, his voice a hoarse croak. 

“Moon tea,” came her simple reply. Her hips frantic against his own. Her back arched. Her moans filled the room. 

Jaime dipped his head to her neck, his sweat dribbled from his nose to blend with her own. With a growl he stumbled over the edge of his release, his hips slapping into her. Brienne screamed as she finished. She clenched around his cock and milked his seed. He slumped against her, his heart pounding and breath ragged. He felt her own heart and breath beneath his ear on her sweaty breast. 

He slid to her side, then leaned up to whisper into her ear, “Gods, I love you, wench.”

She chuckled, the sound vibrating from her chest. “Are you happy now?” 

“Content at least.” He laughed, because he did feel content, his chest light for the first time in a long time. 

“Too bad I do not have some wine, or ale.” Brienne wrapped her arms around him. 

“We can remedy that.” Jaime pushed himself up and off her. His limbs felt nicely liquid and exhausted. He moved to the door. Surely there must be a guard at the Stark rooms that could send for his squire. 

“Jaime.” Brienne's voice stilled him. “Are you not putting on pants at the least?” Jaime turned wearing nothing but his smirk. She cocked an eyebrow at him. He couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. 

“Fine. Fine.” He tugged on pants and tightened the laces enough to keep them on his hips, then shrugged back into his tunic. “Not that anyone near has not already guessed what we were about.” He winked and slipped out the door. 

Finding a guard and having Kywin, his squire, sent for was easy enough. The boy quickly came with a good bottle of southern wine, two glasses and even some cheese and bread. Brienne had re-dressed in pants and tunic, her light hair spiked. 

“Discretion,” Jaime said when Kywin raised his eyebrow at their limited clothing and the ruffled bedding. 

The boy nodded. “Yes, Lord Commander.” The loyalty of a young squire, at least he could count on that little. 

Brienne had set out the food and filled the glasses by the time Jaime had barred the door. She handed one to Jaime and they sat together at the small table. Brienne took a sip of wine.

Jaime picked over the cheese and plopped one in his mouth. Between the work of the day and the fucking he was surprisingly hungry. “Why haven't we done that before?” Jaime gave an easy half-smile. 

Brienne tilted her head, paused as she tore off a piece of bread. “The...?”

“Fucking.” Jaime finished for her with the crudest word for it and Brienne tightened her lips in annoyance. She also cocked her head and looked to be thinking of an actual reply. “It was a rhetorical question, Brienne. We both know why.”

She'd been too shy and unsure. Her low self-esteem from past events making her certain Jaime couldn't have fallen for her, fallen for all her attributes besides her looks. He'd been too wrapped up in Cersei and their rotting version of love. Too tied to his family. Perhaps too protective of Brienne and her maidenhead he'd saved. 

She gave a half-smile in reply. “Yes.” She sipped her wine. “And now?” She chewed on some bread. 

Jaime narrowed his eyes, took a deep gulp of wine. Should he have given her vows first? Part of him knew with or without them he'd follow this woman to the end of the world and both their deaths with no regrets. He was already hers, what did vows matter? The other part of him echoed the name she'd already been given, Kingslayer's Whore, and how he wasn't about to make it true, how he'd promised that to Sansa. 

“We did this willingly.” Brienne tilted her head. 

“I know.” Jaime pinched his lips in exasperation. “Is there a man one-on-one who could have you unwillingly?” Hadn't he joked about this once, how he could be strong enough to take her? “It's just...” He shrugged and couldn't put it all into clear words. 

“I've said before, I do not mean to marry.” Brienne ate a bite of cheese and tightened her lips. 

“Why?” Jaime leaned forward, resting his right elbow on the table. He plopped more cheese into his mouth. 

Brienne paused, glass half raised. “You've said yourself you don't wish to marry either.”

Way to avoid the question, wench, he thought. “I meant I didn't want to marry some liege lord's daughter less than half my age, who I wouldn't care about and who would bore me in a few moons time.” Jaime sipped his wine and took a bite of bread.

“I enjoy what I'm doing, and I do it well.” Brienne narrowed her eyes. 

“Yes.” Jaime cocked his head and waited for the rest. 

Brienne sighed and shook her head. “I will never be a proper lady of the court, a good wife or mother.”

Jaime frowned. “As a high lady you wouldn't need to give a fuck what's proper in court.” Because she would be the Evenstar of Tarth and possibly his Lady of Casterly Rock. Did she not know as either she could make her own rules? He shook his head in disgust. “You're the kindness person I know,” he said giving a deep sigh, “and would be a great wife and mother.” Who had ever told her she wouldn't? 

She just stared back at him and sighed. He understood, as a knight only she was in charge of her life. As a wife and mother she would be beholden to someone else. Didn't she realize he'd never ask her to choose to give up things she loved, things she was good at, or make her do things she disliked? Jaime almost thought about just getting on a knee and asking her for vows now, or giving her vows as he had foolishly done so many years ago with Cersei. 

Her blue eyes held such sadness and worry that Jaime did neither. He noticed her almost raising a hand to her exposed ruined cheek. If he wanted a damned little graceful lady he could have a few dozen. Didn't she know he didn't care she was bigger, or stronger, or even a knight and a better one? He didn't care she couldn't curtsey well, didn't like wearing gowns, and that she bore scars. 

“Do you know how many Lannister cousins I have?” he asked. Brienne shook her head. “Neither do I. If I don't have an heir and Tyrion doesn't have an heir, a Lannister will surely still rule Casterly Rock.” Unlike her, where the linage of Tarth was hers to continue. Sadly that meant her body carrying and birthing an heir, her body not fully hers for a time. It was a much bigger task asked of her than him, for all he need do for an heir was to spill his seed. 

She said nothing to that, only sighed deeply. In silence they finished their wine, bread and cheese. He wanted to discuss it all, every little detail of them possibly marrying, of children, of a future if they survived the winter. He wanted to temper all her worries, even if she'd not believe his words. But, he did not. He could already see her slipping back beneath that armor she encircled herself with, the one he thought tonight could have rid her of. If she wasn't ready for any of that, Jaime could wait. 

Jaime finished off the last of his wine and leaned back in his chair. “You know, Bronn would swear we've been fucking for years?”

“I have not known you for years, Jaime.” Brienne frowned and tilted her head. 

“Have you not?” He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

“We have barely seen each other since I left King's Landing.” She tightened her lips.

Since he was her prisoner in the Riverlands. Since they saved each others lives. Since they found themselves connected in ways they would have never believed even when he'd sent her off on her quest after the Stark girls. 

“Do I return to my rooms now?” He cocked his head. Brienne narrowed her eyes and perhaps it was his imagination a blush threatened her pale cheeks. Jaime rose and then knelt before her. She parted her legs as his hand and stump roamed up the inside of her leg from knee to thigh. 

“Or I could please you again if you'll have me.” Jaime smirked up at her. 

“Are you revived enough for such?” Brienne looked down at him and cocked an eyebrow. 

He shrugged, because in truth he was not a young man anymore. “Revived or not, I don't need my cock to please you, my lady.” His fingers loosened the laces on her pants as he smirked wide and charming up at her. 

Jaime should have kept count of the number of times he brought Brienne to her peak. His fingers and tongue between her legs on the chair, the floor and finally back on the bed. If the wildling had been there first, he had not done as good a job as Jaime. How could his cock not stir again at those sights, at this glorious woman compliant to his touch? Finally, Brienne took his cock in her firm hand, rolled him onto his back and sucked him until he almost spilled around her tongue and lips. 

As she straddled him and sank herself onto his cock, she muttered, “The teasing was nice, but this is what I really wanted between my legs.” Her powerful, frantic pace stole away Jaime's chuckle. She rode him for as long as he'd pleasured her previous, backing off just before they tumbled to a release before resuming again. When they finally finished it was his release that drove her own, her brilliant eyes shot with desire, cheeks flushed. She collapsed atop him a heavy weight of pale flesh and muscle smelling of sweat and woman and a trace of lavender from the soap before. 

“How could you not be happy now?” she sighed more than spoke. She looked fucked and sated.

Jaime chuckled and buried his face into the crook of her long, graceful neck. “Yes, how could I not, wench?” He wrapped her in his arms. Talks of vows and heirs could stand for another day. Exhaustion and the warmth of the sex washed over him. Jaime closed his eyes and listened to Brienne's soft breath as she drifted to sleep, a smile across his face.


	12. Winter Dawn Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we have finally gotten to smut, there will be more.

Only wane light shown from outside when Brienne stirred awake. The light of winter in the North, light many were glad they still had. Her limbs tangled with Jaime's. She cuddled down into the furs more, drew his warm body closer to her. It had not been the light to wake her but the chill of the room. With a sigh she lifted herself out of the bed and dashed to replace a few logs and rekindle the fire in the hearth. The chill left goosebumps on her bare flesh. She shivered against Jaime when she finally returned to the warmth of the bed. 

Jaime shifted, but with a sigh drifted back to sleep. Brienne thought of recovering the fur that had slipped off his chest, however, his skin felt warm beneath her hand. She propped herself on an elbow and looked him over in the pale light of a Northern winter morning. The scattering of hair on his chest was mostly gray, his chest still chiseled and well muscled. Most of his scars she saw were pink and new. He had not fared well in King's Landing, although he had mentioned nothing of the battle except they had lost and he had escaped. 

Why did life have to be more complicated than loving someone? She'd sensed his guilt at what they had done last night without vows. Silly from a man who had spent a lifetime in an adulterous relationship with his sister, even if he could claim he had private vows with his sister-lover. She had been glad when Jaime dropped the subject of marriage, before they might get into a fight over it. Could she not just finally have and hold the man she had loved for so long? 

Jaime's stump rested on his chest. It had been long since she had seen more than a glance of it, since she'd replaced rags to tend the rotting flesh of his wrist. A puckered scar now existed, instead of the cut surface of bone and torn flesh. His wrist had been lost to infection, although two-thirds of his lower arm remained. The skin at the end had been bruised from his labors shoveling snow the day before. 

When Brienne looked at Jaime's face she found him awake, his eyes studying her, catching where she looked. She smiled and wrapped her hand gently around the stump of his arm, as if she could hold his missing hand. He remained, silent, eyes watching, held tense. Brienne slipped her hand to his neck and lifted the necklace she had seen last night. The only thing he's worn and still wore, save his skin. 

The slender gold chain, likely once given to a woman, held two items, a gold pendent with the Lannister lion sigil, and a ring, not quite large enough to be a man's, with two sigils the Lannister lion and stag of house Baratheon. 

“Whose?” Brienne asked, although she could have guessed well enough. She tapped the lion pendent first, remembered the identical one she had seen Cersei favor wearing. 

“Myrcella's.” Jaime sighed. “I gave it back to her as we left Dorne, right before she died in my arms.” What pivotal moment had that been in shaping the Jaime before her? Being accepted by at least one of his children, only to have it taken from him moments after. He swallowed. “At some point, before Riverrun, I wanted something of hers back, so I went to the crypts and took it from her body.” Brienne tried not to think of Jaime facing his bloated, rotting daughter to retrieve the item. 

Brienne ran a hand over the ring. “Tommen's?” It was small enough almost for a woman though the design was for a man. 

Jaime nodded. “Joffrey had it made, but it was Tommen who favored wearing it as King.” He frowned and swallowed again. “I found it with the ashes of his body, within the rubble of the Sept of Baelor.” 

Pieces of his beloved children, pieces of his heart, laid there on his chest. Brienne didn't speak, only placed her hand upon them. He had been more open about his children than she thought he would have ever been capable. But, then they were dead now, what harm did he need to keep them secret from?

She lowered her gaze for a moment. There was something else she had noticed last night, something she was not certain Jaime would talk about. 

“May I ask you one question?” Her voice shook. 

“Only one?” His was light. He didn't know yet what she meant to ask. 

She bit her lower lip and looked him again in the eyes. “Last night... when I...” She tilted her head. “With my mouth.., and hand... on your....” Words were failing her. 

Jaime furrowed his brow. His eyes were dark and hard. “Are you asking about my cock?”

Brienne managed to nod and whisper, “Yes.” It had been most noticeable when the flesh of his cock was pulled taunt, twisted pink lines of scarring. From the thickness Brienne had felt with her fingers she guessed they had been caused by fingernails. How hard did one need to scrape to make such? How much would it have hurt Jaime? 

He shifted away from her. “She did this?” Brienne asked. She kept her voice soft and gentle and made sure not to close the gap of space he'd given himself. 

“Yes.” His lips lifted into a sneer. 

She had often doubted how much Cersei might return Jaime's love, but she had never thought the other woman would harm him. Cersei had marked him, had let any woman who followed her know he had belonged to another before, been ruled by another before. Not necessary, because any woman who would be loved by Jaime after Cersei would already know what his sister had meant to him.

“Why did you stay?” Brienne asked. 

His eyes snapped to her. “Who else was there to prevent her from destroying the rest of the city? From taking more lives?” 

She shook her head. “I do not know.” He had saved the city from the Mad King. She could see how it grieved him to have not done so from Cersei. 

“I couldn't find all the caches of wildfire, much less remove them without her knowledge.” Jaime shook his head. Brienne tilted hers, because clearly he had tried. “I should have done it in the chaos after the Mad King, while Robert was still instilling his power, but...” He shrugged. A frown fell on his face, because if he had done so how many would he have saved? 

“Even if she had tried to use wildfire again, what could you have done?” Brienne leaned closer to him, rested a hand on his chest. 

“Killed her.” His face was as solid as his words and his dark eyes. He meant it, he would have, could have killed the woman he loved. 

Brienne frowned and did not know what to say to that. 

He reached out his hand and cupped the back of her head. He drew her forehead to rest against his own. Their breaths warmed each others' faces in the chill morning air. “You are nothing like her,” he whispered. 

“Isn't that the point?” She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. For a moment he dipped his head and rested it on her shoulder, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. It was one thing not to be Cersei and another for Brienne to be his lady wife. 

“Think we can stay here naked all day?” His voice did not quite hold the mirth he might have wished. 

Brienne shook her head. “Sadly, we have duties.” With a sigh, she lifted herself from his embrace. The furs fell off her as she sat back and she lingered there a moment letting his gaze admire her. Best not to wonder what some men did see in her limited beauty. 

“I have to get to the training yard.” She got off the bed and crossed to dress. “You are welcome to stay longer.”

Jaime lay back and sprawled on the bed. “Lounging will not be nearly as fun without you.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Brienne almost agreed, instead she turned and dressed, adding layers to stand the cold that would greet her outside. 

“I should thank you for last night.” Jaime lay propped on an elbow as he watched her. 

Brienne sat beside him on the bed. “Should I not be the one to thank you?” When she thought back to the previous night and their bedding a blush rose on her cheeks. The soreness between her thighs certainly spoke to their actions. Perhaps he was better than Tormund, but by the Seven there was something in Jaime that just sent her lusting. Just sitting here made her ache for him. 

Suddenly he shifted to sitting, wrapped his arms around her, nose touching hers. “You should leave before I take you again and care not that you're late for your cursed training.” 

He did not kiss her, so Brienne tilted her head and captured his lips. He moaned into her mouth. It did take effort to pull away, her heart racing in her chest. 

“Later.” She bowed her head. 

Jaime smirked and mirth now danced in his brilliant eyes. “I will hold you to that, dear lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a few chapters ahead of what I have written still. Trying to complete writing a chapter before posting a new one.


	13. Boys will be boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One look at Jaime F---- Lannister's face this morning and Bronn knew the damn lord hadn't f--- Brienne until last night. Tormund might not take it the best.

Bronn found Jaime, finally, as he entered the dining hall. He'd gone by the Lord's room for him, and found 'em empty. The little Lannister squire of Jaime's said the Lord hadn't been in all night. Bronn chuckled and almost just walked to Lady Brienne's room. Although that woulda taken him through the Stark portion of the keep and Bronn hated to explain why he might be roaming about 'em this early in the morning. Bronn had always assumed Jaime'd fucked the woman knight already, the way they made moon eyes at each other. One look at Jaime Fucking Lannister's face this morning though and Bronn knew the damn lord hadn't fucked Brienne until last night. There was a deep happiness there Bronn had never seen before. Bronn gave Jaime a bright smile and chuckled. He'd be hoping Brienne'd keep fucking Jaime if'n it kept the lord so happy. 

Jaime cocked his head, narrowed his eyes. 

“Yep, that obvious.” Bronn tilted his head and gave a half smirk. 

Jaime paused and there mighta actually been worry in his eyes. Bronn almost shook his head at that, almost laughed, opted to just be crude instead, make the good dishonorable knight squirm a might. “So she's as good a fuck as she looks?” He winked and slapped Jaime on the shoulder. 

Jaime tightened his mouth, not going to actually give Bronn any details. “Bet you worked up an appetite.” Bronn leered. He wouldn't twist the knife so much if it wasn't such fun to get Jaime in such a mood. Jaime just stared back, with a warning glare. 

“And now ya ain't beaming anymore, are ya?” Bronn cocked his head. Jaime paused and perhaps his glare softened a bit. They stood just outside the doors leading to the hallway to the food. Bronn himself preferred food in the rooms as King's Landing did it, but the King of the bloody North liked to see everyone under one roof as they dinned. The great bearded wildling fellow was sure to be there this morning; he never missed a meal. Much as Bronn might want t' see a good fight 'tween Jaime and the wildling, he'd have money on Jaime not coming out of that in one piece. 

When Jaime started walking again Bronn walked around and passed Jaime. He leaned in too close in the other man's personal space and whispered near his ear, “Maybe no one'll notice.”

Jaime frowned. “Maybe,” he mumbled back. 

They entered and Bronn called out to a wench for food. He made for a far table, but King bloody Jon waved them, or more likely Jaime, over to his head table. Jaime gave a short sigh and walked over, his face its usual sullen disinterest. No doubtin' he was a Lannister, knew how to play this game of lies and faces better than them northerners. 

The wench brought over two plates of food and two watered down ales. Bronn thanked her with a wink and a leer, tryin' to remember if he knew the woman. Jaime gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. Nothing of note to see this morning, Bronn thought. He bit back his reply and turned his attention to the food. Best to let the fucking lord play his game without Bronn's witty crudeness messin' it up. 

Most of the talk was Jon and Davos. The older man on about more scouting and such. Davos was as much proof as Bronn that Flea Bottom made survivors build o' stern stuff, although they were about as opposite o' men as possible. Maybe Jaime had lucked out; Bronn hadn't seen the ginger bearded wildling yet. 

Then, the door slammed open, the heavy wooden mass actually rocking on its hinges. Bronn turned knowing exactly what he'd see. There stood the wildling Tormund, wild red hair and beard, murderous glint in his blue eyes. Poor Jaime Lannister was likely fucked. 

“You fucked her.” Tormund thundered across the room, everyone partin' and flinchin' out of his way. “Think you have the right to take her, you little shit of a man.” He spat out the words, and stood menacing before Jaime. 

Jaime rose slowly to his feet, cocked his head and looked the crazed wildling straight in the eyes. No fear in his. “She's a lady, and not one to be taken.”

“She deserves better than you.” Tormund gave Jaime a slight shove and stepped closer until his broad chest hit the lord's. 

“You think she's yours because you were there first?” Jaime cocked his head, eyes still fearless. They might be a match in size, but without Jaime's hand, they weren't a match in skill. “I should thank you for that. Certainly made last night more enjoyable.” He gave a cocky grin. 

Bronn frowned. Cocky, arrogant cunt, he thought as he stood. He should at least make sure his lord didn't get 'imself run through for his smart mouth. 

Tormund glared and pelted Jaime with a left punch to the gut. Jaime bent and wobbled but stayed upright. The wildling followed with a right hook. Jaime stumbled backwards, but kept his feet. Blood dribbled from Jaime's lip and nose when he lifted his face. A smile spread on his busted lip and anger gleamed in his eyes. 

“So you fucked her a few times, doesn't give you the rights to disagree with who she fucks otherwise.” Jaime's face was scrunched in that anger thing he did. 

King Jon now stood. Bronn figured maybe he and the king'd be able to peel the two of them from killing each other, maybe.

Tormund said nothing, he stepped forward and threw a left hook. Jaime slapped it away with his golden hand. “She deserves better than a man who'd fuck his sister and wrong the gods.” Tormund punched Jaime hard in the gut with his right fist. This did send Jaime doublin' over, gasping for breath. 

“And you've done no evils? Let her decide who she'd like to fuck.” Of course Jaime fucking Lannister would go arguing with an angry wildling about sins and who had the rights to go deciding about a woman big enough to beat them both. 

“Stupid gucking honor you southron speak of, be nice t' fight it out of you.” Tormund tugged Jaime back to standing with too little effort. 

“Fight me, you'll win.” Jaime smiled, blood dribbled on his lip. “Kill me, and she'll gut you for it.” He cocked his head. 

Tormund roared, and holding Jaime with his left fist, hit him solid with his right. Jaime collapsed to his knees, shook his head. Bronn thought that might be the end of it. Then, Jaime twirled back to his feet, his right arm swung in a wide circle and knocked the side of Tormund's head. Back on his feet, Jaime followed with a left punch to Tormund's kidney. Tormund blocked Jaime's gold hand swinging back from the right, but not the left hook to his cheek. The wildling's feet wobbled and he stumbled to the ground. Jaime gave a cocky grin and glance and nod to Bronn. Both wiped from the lord's face as Tormund lunged at Jaime, and took him off his feet. They thudded atop each other on the floor, toppling a chair. The dining hall was ramp with attention on the fight. 

What followed was tousling and rolling, punches and kicks, growls and moans. Never man getting the upper hand. Bronn looked to King Jon and they both nodded they should break it up before one of 'em actually got truly hurt. Each bent to try and peel his respective man off the other. 

That was when Brienne entered chatting with Lady Sansa. Pod and Kywin at their heels back from practice. Brienne paused mid-sentence and glared at the scene. “Just what are you doing?” her voice echoed. All four men paused in place. None quite managed to not look like a guilty little boy, though Bronn did almost mange to pull it off. 

“The next one of you to throw a punch is going to be facing my fists,” Brienne told Jaime and Tormund. She frowned down at them both. She was taller and stronger. Bronn almost smirked 'cause neither man stood a chance against Brienne when she was angry. 

She glanced at Pod and the young Lannister. As she and Sansa crossed to a far table, Brienne turned to the Lady and sighed, “Men.”

“Clearly, they never grow up enough to not be silly boys.” Sansa's reply drifted back to them as they walked away. 

Tormund's brow furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder at the blonde lady knight. “That what I get for fighting ya for her honor?”

On his knees, Jaime let out a laugh and bend forward. “Could have told you she could defend it herself.” Jaime rose to his feet and extended his hand to pull Tormund up as well. 

“You look awful,” Tormund said. 

“So do you.” Jaime smiled, which split his lip open more. Tormund gave a half smile, although there was still jealousy in his pale eyes. 

“Can we eat now?” Bronn asked. Everyone nodded and moved to sit, Bronn and Jon making sure Tormund and Jaime weren't near each other. 

Davos entered, sat and didn't take in the scene until he looked up from his given plate of food. He glanced between the bloodied and bruised faces of Jaime and Tormund. 

“Handled,” Jon said. 

Davos frowned but didn't say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always thought of Tormund as a looming large guy. But, this is based on the show and nikolaj coster-waldau (Jaime) is actually 2 inches taller than Kristofer Hivju (Tormund). So I wrote this with the idea that face to face they'd seem of a similar size. More smut coming, but fist fight had to happen sometime.


	14. until we meet again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duty takes Jaime north and they mean to make the most of their last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is gonna go a time before smut again. Partly to do other things, and partly I think they both might need some time to think things through.

“We'll send the Lannister archers north to the Wall.” King Jon tapped his finger at the northern parts of the map and placed one of the markers for the Lannister army at the Wall. “Edd says a force seems to be amassing north of Castle Black and the archers are more use there than here.” Brienne worried about what was happening up north because she'd certainly thought they had many moons yet until they needed to be ready for such a fight. 

“They're Lannister men,” Jaime said, tightening his lips, “not one of them will be taking the black.”

“Of course.” Jon dipped his head. 

“And I'll be escorting them,” Jaime added. 

Jon eyed Jaime. “You can join me and Tormund when we travel north with supplies.” He nodded. Jaime gave a nod in reply. “We leave on the morrow.”

“Of course you do.” Jaime gave a tight smile. 

“Suppose that means we have things to prepare.” Bronn cocked his head. Jaime gave King Jon a bow of his head before they both excused themselves. Brienne followed them out. 

“I'm comin' along,” Bronn said a few paces from the King's solar. “Ain't leaving you with that wildling fellow.” He gave a quick glance to Brienne behind them. 

Jaime frowned and shook his head. “I can manage myself.” 

Bronn gave him a sideways look that said anything but. “Can ya now?” Brienne wanted to mention that Tormund was very unlikely to harm Jaime, but Jaime had the ability of saying just the wrong thing at the wrong time. “Marbrand can handle things here fine. 'Sides, what better excuse I gonna got for seein' Castle Black with me own eyes.”

Jaime tightened his lips and glared. “What about your leg?”

“No need to worry 'bout that.” Bronn shrugged. “Seen worse before.” 

They paused, both men standing face to face. Jaime continued to glare. Bronn gave a shrug with just his eyes. “Ready the men,” Jaime finally said letting out a sigh. 

“Aye, Lord Commander.” Bronn tipped his head to Jaime, nodded to Brienne and strolled off to do such, still a limp to his gait. 

“You going along too?” He gave her an exasperated look. 

“No.” Brienne tilted her head. “My place is here with Lady Sansa.” In truth she could do without weeks of travel in the increasing snow and cold to get to and back from Castle Black. 

They continued on to Jaime's quarters. As he entered the room, he dipped to scoop up Ser Pounce as the cat made to escape. He petted the cat under its chin and the took out his saddle bags and started to stuff them with items around the room. “On the morrow.” Jaime sighed and shook his head. 

“The raven from Castle Black did just come this morning.” Brienne could leave, find something else to do. But she felt like she'd just gotten to a new point with Jaime, and now he would be gone for weeks. “Tormund means you no harm.” 

“I know.” Jaime didn't look up from his packing. 

“Although it would be good if neither of you came to fists again.” She tightened her lips. She still could not believe either of them had gotten into a fight, in the damned dining hall of everyplace.

Jaime did glance over his shoulder at that. “Done. Settled.” 

Brienne gave him an exasperated look, not believing it for a moment. Men, she internally sighed. Perhaps Sansa was correct and they were all just boys still, just larger with more muscles and more insecure egos to go with grown cocks. 

“Can you look after Ser Pounce while I'm gone?” Jaime asked, back to his packing. 

Brienne glanced over to the cat that sat regal on the bed beside her. It looked at her with slitted green eyes and cocked his head as if considering her. “I don't like cats. We always had hounds instead when I was a child.” She remembered them well, hunting hounds, long lean animals like her lord father, lounging near the hearth in her father's solar. 

Jaime turned and tilted his head with exasperation. 

Brienne let out a puff of a sigh. “I will look in on the cat.”

He nodded, reached behind him to close up the saddle bag. He cocked his head. “Why are you still here, Brienne?”

She stepped closer until their chests almost met. “You leave on the morrow.”

“Yes.” He nodded, eyes watching. 

Could she do this, be brave enough to start things between them? Her heart hammered and her chest rose with deep breaths. At least they were both out of their armor. She ran a hand up the leather of his jerkin to his face. Her fingers traced thinned scars that remained from the Riverlands, healing cuts from the Battle for King's Landing. 

Instead of kissing his lips, she dipped her head and kissed up his jawline. His beard tickled her lips. She puffed warm breath on his ear and then kissed and sucked down his neck to his shoulder. She could feel him shiver, feel his breath coming faster. Her other hand glided over his shoulder and down his chest as she sunk to her knees before him. 

Jaime looked down at her, eyes wide. He shook his head. “What are you doing, Brienne?”

“You'll be gone weeks.” She looked up at him, and tugged loose the lacing of his pants. 

He smirked. “Why you should come along. Keep me warm in the cold.”

Her hand reached out and ran up and down his cock. The skin pulled taunt against growing hardness in her palm.

His hand rested on her shoulder. Jaime shook his head again. “You don't have to do this, Briennne. I am already yours.”

“I know.” She leaned back on her haunches, her hand continued to harden him. “I...” She swallowed. Last night having him in hand, almost getting him to release with her lips had been nice. She wanted him to come undone by her hands, her mouth. She wanted that power over him, dressed and hard and hers. 

“I... I want...” She leaned forward so her breath puffed warm on the tip of his cock. “Let me do this to you, Jaime.” 

He let out a shaky breath. His hips jerked. Brienne darted her tongue out to his cock's tip. She ran her tongue over one of the twisted scars of his cock, wondering if that felt different to him than the rest of the skin. Jaime shivered again. His hand moved to cup her cheek, the damaged one as that was the one on his left side. Brienne swallowed. He'd tipped his head down, his eyes dilated and half lidded. Brienne wrapped her lips about the tip, then pulled back to look up at him again. 

“Gods, wench, you're making it hard for me to try and be proper about us.” Jaime's voice came out hoarse. 

“Then don't be proper.” Brienne gave him a half smile. 

She dipped forward again, this time taking him in to the back of her mouth. She sucked in her cheeks as she slid back up his cock. “Brienne,” he sighed out her name. Jaime leaned back on the desk behind him. His right arm held up his weight. His hand shifted to her hair. Brienne slid down and up and down on his cock. 

“Twist a little,” Jaime managed to say. His breathing came fast now. His hand half fisted in her hair. 

Brienne did as asked, twisted her mouth and her hand at the base of his cock. Jaime jerked upwards and let out a strangled moan. She set to pleasing him. Her fingers finding the places that rocked his hips harder. Her tongue and lips finding the places that made him moan louder. Still, he held himself back, his hips almost still, his teeth clenched to any sounds he might make. 

She wanted him wild and needy in her hands and mouth. Now that she'd discovered the places he liked, she set to using them. She took him in deeper, sucked harder, tightened her hand around the base. Jaime fisted her hair and started to thrust into her mouth. Brienne increased her actions until he finally panted her name around his moans. 

And then he was fucking her mouth. All Brienne could do was open her mouth and throat, hold on to his hips as they snapped towards her. Her tongue wrapped around his cock, her fingers pressed the base of his cock. She sucked him hard and long as he slid in and out of her mouth. Jaime held her to his cock and growled. His hips jerked one last time and then his cock spilled into her mouth. Brienne pulled back and swallowed down all of his seed she could manage. The remainder coated her lips and dribbled down her chin. 

Jaime slumped against the desk. His hand cupped her ruined cheek for a moment before he tugged her to her feet. He kissed her even though his seed covered her lips and the taste of himself coated her mouth. He pulled away and gave a wide smile. Brienne knew he enjoyed it and returned his smile with one of her own. He brought up the hem of his undertunic, revealing firm lower abs, his softening cock, and his pants hanging just off his hips, and wiped off Brienne's mouth. 

“You are getting paid back for that.” He smiled again. Jaime tugged up his pants and started to fix his laces. 

“Planning on it.” Brienne smirked. She reached out, tightened and tied off his pant laces. Neither made a comment about it. Yes, he was capable himself, but she was right there and it would take her a third less time. 

“I should go check on Bronn.” Jaime shook his head again. “On the morrow,” he repeated again. 

Brienne nodded. She could ask if he needed help, but they were his men and he didn't need her underfoot. “Until dinner then.” She gave a bow of her head. 

That sent a chuckle from Jaime. He pulled her closer for another kiss, this one gentle and soft. He dipped his head and chuckled once more. “Until dinner,” he said when they parted. 

#

Dinner went as usual, daily talk, Jon giving commands on who was to do what while he was away. Davos was to be in charge of council affairs in Jon's stead. Brienne was put in charge of any matter concerning the troops at Winterfell. 

Jon shook his head when Brienne first refused. She was only a swornsword, not a knight. “Who should I leave in charge,” Jon said, “some lesser lord or the Lady and heir of Tarth?”

“You're more than capable of the task, Lady Brienne,” Davos added. “Be less for me to handle while Jon's away.”

Brienne bowed her head. “I will do you proud.” It was one of the only times she glanced at Jaime. His face showed nothing, but she could see the pride in his gaze. Brienne turned back to the rest of the table. It was difficult to look at Jaime and not remember her lips and tongue on his cock, to not think about the wetness between her legs and what tonight alone with him might hold. She concentrated on the conversation at the table, something Sansa was saying about bread and dried meat supplies, and willed a blush to not creep up her cheeks. 

At the final end of dinner, Jaime caught her by the hand. “Give me a half hour to check on the preparations,” he whispered in her ear, “then meet me in my room.”

Tormund had luckily already passed. Davos tilted his head and said nothing. Sansa gave a smile as they fell in together on the way to Sansa's room. 

“Enjoy,” Sansa said. “I'll ask one of Jon's guards to keep an eye on my room tonight.” She gave another small smile. 

Brienne tried not to blush and did manage a nod. “Thank you.” 

#

It was not so late in the night but of course dark by the time Brienne made it to Jaime's quarters. He was there already, his jerkin off, sipping a glass of wine. He offered her wine, not a separate glass but the one in his own hand. She took it and sipped before returning it. Her innards already felt a jumble and more wine would not help them. They had done this last night, and she had not been a maid then, why was she so nervous tonight?

“It's a few weeks to the wall?” Jaime asked, taking a sip of his wine.

Brienne nodded. “A few weeks there and then back, yes. Depending on weather.” She placed another log onto the fire and stoked it with the poker set against the rock fireplace. “Make sure to dress warmly, especially if you're wearing plate armor. Care for your right arm in the cold steel of your hand.”

She turned to find Jaime with tightened lips and an exasperated expression. “Have you been to the wall before?” she asked, instead of more advice he did not wish. 

He shook his head, took one last sip of wine and placed it on the table behind him. “Did you know Casterly Rock stands three times the height of the Wall?” He shrugged. 

“I did not.” Brienne turned back to him, still not sure how to begin. Almost a month away and tonight was what they had until his return. 

Jaime crossed to her and reached out to her waist to tug her against him. Instead of a kiss he undid the ties of her tunic, lowered the fabric down her shoulders, and kissed the skin of each, ran his tongue along the scars left by the bear. 

They continued as such, removing a piece of clothing and laving the revealed skin. Finally they lay on the bed, naked. Her nethers held wetness and an ache and Jaime's cock rested hard against her thigh, but last night had lessened their urgency. Instead they mapped out each others' flesh, even hollow of joint, even line of muscle, every scar old and new. Fingers and tongues and lips learned every inch of each other. 

Finally the need rose, had then panting and sweaty, their hips rocked against each other. Jaime rolled her beneath him and slid easily into her. They set a slow pace, passion cresting as if they had all the time in the world. She needed more, she needed faster. Brienne rolled them over, her hips rocked against Jaime's as he thrust himself upwards deeper into her. 

Jaime sat up and wrapped Brienne in his strong arms. She worried about her weight in his lap, but all he did was moan and use his stump to tug her hips against his own thrusts. Brienne wrapped her long legs around his back, used them to thrust their bodies together. Their movements grew frantic. Hands slipped on sweaty flesh. She clenched around his hard cock, never having felt as connected to anyone as Jaime in this moment. Their faces hovered against each other, breaths warm on each others' cheeks. Jaime's eyes were a dark green shot through with lust. 

Brienne could spend forever here, joined, in the arms of the man she loved. But, the pleasure they'd strove toward neared peaking. She could feel it tingling under her skin, tightening low in her gut. Then she was tumbling. She bucked against him, a shrill scream passed her lips. Jaime growled and gripped her hips to still her and arched his back to spill buried deep inside her. 

They slumped together, spent, his head on her shoulder and hers resting against his head. Pleasure continued to spike and sizzle through Brienne. They stayed there until their breaths steadied, until a chill set on their skin. Both moaned as they disconnected, untangled tired limbs and lay wrapped again in each others' arms. Brienne closed her eyes, snuggled into Jaime's chest and slept to the gentle sound of his breathing and heartbeat. 

#

Brienne woke at first light. She stretched and pulled herself to wakefulness before she remembered she was naked underneath the furs. She turned to find Jaime propped on an elbow gazing at her. Whatever embarrassment she might have had before disappeared. What had Jaime not seen last night? Jaime leaned forward and gave her a light kiss. 

“Morning.” He smiled and Brienne found herself returning it. “I have something for you I forgot before we got... otherwise distracted last night.”

He slipped from the furs and naked still walked to a chest on the other side of the room. The fire had been rekindled already. How long had Jaime been up? He crouched down at the chest and rummaged around for a bit before pulling out a small bag. Brienne couldn't help but admire the muscles of his back, thighs and ass. He turned and strolled back to the bed, as naked and confident in his skin as he'd been in the Harrenhal bath. 

“Here.” Jaime tugged the string to open the bag and spilled the contents into her waiting palm. Brienne tilted her head at the glint of gold. Jaime lifted the item, a necklace, hung on his spread fingers to display it. It was gorgeous. The gold became a string of blue sapphires from which a gold medallion with the Lannister lion sigil hung, from that hung a single large sapphire. 

“I found it in Tommen's room, maybe he meant to give it to his Queen,” Jaime said. Brienne frowned, not sure she wanted a gift made by his young son for his wife. “It was my mother's,” Jaime continued, “Cersei must have given it to him.”

“Your mother's?” Brienne sat up, the furs lightly gathered at her chest. She couldn't quite reach out to the gorgeous necklace. 

“She liked sapphires, but as a Lannister everything was always in gold or red.” Jaime leaned on his stump, the necklace still dangling. “So for one of her naming days, before we were born I think, Tywin found the largest sapphire he could and had it made into this gift for her.”

“What would I do with this?” Brienne tilted her head. The lion of Lannister and blue of Tarth, plus sapphires, for the sapphire isle. 

“Wear it.” Jaime shrugged and moved it closer to her. 

Brienne finally rested the lion and large sapphire in her palm. “Wear it with what?” She had no dresses here. Did not wish them truthfully.

“Your clothes.” Jaime frowned. Wear it with her armor she wanted to ask? With her woolen tunic that came to her chin? Who but them would know of the beauty contained inside? She tilted her head. He'd given her armor and a sword once, much more appreciated gifts. 

“When I saw it in Tommen's room... I thought of you.” Jaime sighed. He almost made to pull the necklace back. 

“You mother liked this?” she asked. 

“It was one of her favorites.” Jaime nodded. 

Brienne took the necklace from him, stared down at the perfect lion with raised paws. The mother that she knew Jaime had loved. She imagined this on the surely beautiful neck that had belonged to Joanna Lannister. She glanced at the gold dangling from Jaime's own neck, the only thing he currently still wore. He did that for himself, not so anyone might see. 

“I'd put it on you, but...” He raised his only hand. Brienne nodded and reached behind her to put on the necklace herself. It looked too lady-like and eloquent for herself, much less to just wear under armor. Jaime reached out and righted it so the sigil lay where her collarbones meet, the sapphire hung just above the hollow leading to her meager breasts. She thought to protest, to say the necklace was not meant for someone as unlady-like as herself. But there was something in Jaime's eyes, love and deep admiration and it paused her protest on her lips. 

“Thank you, Jaime.” Brienne looked down and touched the lovely sapphire and lion. 

He shrugged but smiled. “I only have so many swords to give you.” She returned his smile and drew him into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The necklace has been completely snagged from another fic, which I have long forgotten the name of. But I love the idea of it and think Jaime would completely want to give Brienne a more traditional lady-like gift. 
> 
> Hopefully Brienne is not too bold in this, but a month away...


	15. Cautious Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes enemies may not be what they seem.

Tormund tried not to watch Jaime Lannister say goodbye to Brienne as they readied to go to Castle Black. Woman had been honest with him, her steady voice and harsh face, saying plainly that she loved another and not him, wanted them to only be a few times, an experience. Still, Tormund had hoped his affections and her acceptance of him could lead elsewhere. Jaime Lannister seemed too pretty and cocky a man to hold her interest, and yet Tormund couldn't deny the way Brienne was looking at him today, wide nervous blue eyes. 

Lannister had to lean up a bit to give Brienne a soft kiss on her lips and another on her cheek. Tormund noticed the way her gloved hand clenched in Lannister's black fur collar. Lannister leaned back. “Take care, Brienne.”

Brienne gave a tight smile. “Take care, Jaime.” Her voice light, almost caught on the chill breeze. Damn the woman had it bad for the man. 

Bronn appeared beside Tormund and clapped him on the shoulder. Tormund waited for the words, because the bought sword always had words. Instead, Bronn glanced at Lannister and Brienne as well, and lifted his eyebrows in a shrug. He turned away, no words spoken, and mounted his own horse. 

Jaime checked his saddle straps one last time, then mounted his horse with an easy grace. 

“Be careful on the Wall, Jaime,” Brienne called out, her voice a bit unsure, as if perhaps she should have left their goodbye at the slight kiss before. 

“Tyrion pissed off the Wall.” Jaime smiled. “I can't be outdone by my little brother.”

Brienne tightened her lips and drew her face into exasperation. “If you fall off the Wall fumbling with your laces to take a piss....” She shook her head. 

Jaime let out a chuckle. He circled his horse but kept his gaze on Brienne as he did so. “Don't worry, Lady Brienne, I'll take care, even on the Wall.”

She gave a sigh and a final nod. 

As they left Winterfell and trailed down through Winter Town Bronn had taken a place beside Jon, leaving Tormund beside Jaime. After trailed close to 400 archers decked in Lannister light armor of red and black trimmed with gold, always everything Lannister was trimmed in gold. Tormund had no intention of talking to the damned handsome Lannister. so rode in silence. Behind that was a few carts of supplies for Castle Black: needed meat and grains, forged steel and woolen clothing. 

He had to admit, Lannister did ride a horse well. Jon had offered him a northern mount that might have been more surefooted in the ice and snows. Lannister had said he trusted his own horse better. The beast was a white stallion with an almost prancing gait. Bronn and Lannister took turns circling back to check on the formation of the Lannister archers. Tormund wasn't sure why, because it was a road and surely the horses would follow well enough. Why must they ride two by two? 

Lannister's horse pranced through the snow to return to the front. The horse's white color looked more cream against the snow his hooves kicked up. The gold trim on the horse's saddle and Lannister's armor glimmered in the reflected light from the snow. He rode with grace, almost as if he and the horse moved as one. And yes, while he held the reins in his left hand, right gold hand resting on the saddle horn, Tormund noted it was mostly light touches of Lannister's knees that guided the horse. 

With a slight coaxing sideways move Lannister's horse returned seamlessly beside Tormund's. Damn cocky bastard, Tormund thought. 

“Gonna be a long, cold few week if we're not talking,” Lannister said. 

“Ride beside your bought sword you want talkin'.” Tormund looked ahead where Bronn and Jon were laughing over words the wind had caught. 

Lannister shrugged and leaned in his saddle towards Tormund. “It was a long ride North and I've already heard all of Bronn's jokes and stories. Not like he's gained anymore sitting around Winterfell.”

They rode in silence until almost midday before Lannister spoke again. “Snow mentioned you have daughters. Did you have a wife?” 

Tormund frowned. Did he, past tense. At least the southron lord wasn't assuming he'd been barbaric enough to fuck Brienne while having a woman otherwise. Not that he was gonna answer the cocky bastard. 

They rode in silence for a bit until Lannister said. “You had to have had a wife.” He nodded. “Man of your age and stasis, with children.” Tormund glanced at the man, kept silent. “I'm sorry... for your lose.”

Tormund turned to Lannister and blinked. “Sorry?”

He shrugged. “You marry for love, that's how you do it, right? So if she's gone, I'm sorry.” 

Tormund remembered coming home to find his wife and youngest son gone, the boy just a few years off being weaned. The Army of Dead had taken them, something Tormund had thought then, found out first hand months later when he'd come face to face with his wee baby of a boy with pale blue glowing eyes. 

He stared at the Lannister bastard, who'd turned to face forward, handsome tanned face and fancy almost useless armor. He'd stared a good while before Lannister glanced at him and said, “Southern high-born, we rarely marry for love. It's always about alliances, power to give or take or share.” He sighed and shook his head. “Why do you think I'm not married?”

Tormund had heard the man had been in the Kingsguard, group of knights – knights being a silly concept in itself – that protected the Kings down south. They swore an oath like the Crows did to take no wives, father no children. That's why the man hadn't had a wife, that and his sins with his sister probably. But, he'd been an heir to a whole kingdom, and given it up as a boy. Was that so he did not have to marry? 

“What was her name?” Lannister turned to him, his handsome face open and honest. “This woman you loved and wed, fathered children with and lost?” 

His beautiful Meira, who he still dearly missed. He hadn't meant to tell the cocky bastard her name, or anything about her, but once he'd started... Tormund's people knew enough and didn't speak about any of it, those not of his clan had gleamed enough from his own people. He hadn't ever really told anyone it all. He spoke about how he'd won her, or she'd won him, years ago, both of them barely kids. Her brown curled hair, sharp gray eyes and sharper tongue. She'd been a fierce spear maiden, until the babes came. She'd survived birthing six of them, four that had lived to childhood. She'd been a good, caring mother, and became one of the best trappers and hunters they'd had. He woke some nights in a cold sweat worried he'd face her dead rotting face, not sure if he could get over his fear to end her if he did. That last he left out telling, though when he mentioned how she'd died the Lannister bastard looked like he might have guessed what Tormund didn't say. 

Tormund could've asked about the bastard's sister-lover, but he didn't really want to hear about that abomination. Instead, he asked about Lannister's brother, the imp as Jon Snow referred to him, who had been Sansa Stark's first husband, wedded but not bedded. Lannister shrugged, but he started talking. Oh, Tormund had heard Lannister talk about how he'd like to kill his brother, for killing his father, things that only made Tormund shake his head about how the southron lords seemed to do family all wrong. But, there was a lot of love in the stories Lannister told. 

Lannister's half-man brother, Tyrion, was supposedly witty and smart, good at playing the damn southron politics, kind enough he hadn't unwillingly taken Sansa Stark when given to him as a child bride, though that last would end up being an unkindness. Lannister shook his head about the last and said if Tyrion even met up with Sansa again he'd apologize for having not consummated their marriage – damned proper words – on their wedding night when he'd been drunk enough and her willing. Otherwise, the half-man seemed a drinker and even more into whores than Lannister's bought sword. When Tormund scoffed at that, Lannister smirked and said the whores liked Tyrion because of his cock. Then he went on to tell about it hanging to the half-man's knees, and Tormund found himself laughing. Here he'd thought southron lords were all proper and formal, worst the farther south you went, and Lannister was crudely talking about sizing up cocks. 

When they made camp, Lannister and him parted ways, the lord setting up in the mass of red tents with his own troops. Tormund wasn't sure if he was glad or not for Jon Snow's quietness. 

Next day when he found himself beside Lord Lannister again, Tormund hadn't felt as upset about it. Today, Lannister asked about Tormund's children. Was easier to talk about most of them, save his littlest, which he was brief about. Tormund had last heard of his older son, Drummon, in the frost fangs. Tormund hoped he was still safe out there in the north, that somewhere the living still hid and fought. But, more likely Drummon was walking with the Army of the Dead, or dead and burned. His girls though had found their way to Castle Black with a group of Free Folk and one of his elder cousins. Under King Jon Free Folk were allowed through Castle Black to settle at the Gift. He'd never been as happy than when he learned his girls had survived, that at least he hadn't lost them too. The younger, Ryna, had a look just like her mother, just as restless and willing to get into the fighting even if she was only ten. Munda looked more like him, dark auburn hair and steel blue eyes. She was a good spear maiden, tried and tested despite being young still herself. She'd been taken by a Free Folk from the Bay of Seals and given enough fight to break his nose and three ribs. She grew heavy with his child even now. 

Lannister laughed. “You're going to be a grandfather?” 

“Aye.” Tormund glared but laughed. “But don't go callin' me old man.”

Lannister shook his head, still laughing. “Sure I'm the elder.” Although even if the Lannister bastard had more gray, Tormund figured the other man wasn't older by much. “Besides,” Lannister said with a frown and shrug, “if my children had lived I'd be on my way to being a grandfather myself.” 

Tormund hadn't mean to then, but he had, he'd asked about Lannister's children, the abominations he'd made with his own sister. The middle had been a beautiful and smart daughter, killed with poison by the Dornish lady bastards. The youngest, a king, married, but really no more than a sweet, kind and lost boy when he'd jumped to his death after everyone he'd known and loved died at that southron religious building. The oldest seemed to have been every bit a monster one'd think. But Tormund heard the guilt in Lannister's voice at why the boy was so and the relief that someone had poisoned and killed him. Heard the anger that Lannister had known what the boy was and no one had cared when the boy could not be altered by Lannister himself; the boy's supposed father continued to ignore him and Lannister's sister-lover had only coddled the monster more. 

They'd all three been incestuous bastards, and the man had gone against the gods making them, which was between Lannister and the gods anyhow. But, Lannister loved them, Tormund could hear that in his words and voice, these children who hadn't ever been his. And they were all just children, hadn't done the sins just been the results. Besides, Lannister was right, what did it matter, they were all gone to him now. 

“Did any of 'em know?” Tormund found themselves asking. For Lannister had not married and taken his sister as a wife; she'd been married and another had been thought of as their father, one of them dead kings. Lannister himself had been called their uncle. 

Lannister frowned. “Joffrey knew, and didn't care. I wasn't his father, just the fool that sired him. Tommen...” Lannister sighed and shook his head. “Never knew. He'd become a pious man and would have taken my sin as his. Sweet Tommen, just a pawn to be used by so many. Myrcella...” Lannister looked away and swallowed. 

Then he told about his girl, how while he fumbled to finally tell her – only one of his children he had tried to tell, Tormund noted – she'd beat him to it, said she'd known all along. He made a comment about at least one of them getting the Lannister brilliance, although Tormund knew the man riding beside him was no stupid man himself. Lannister said his daughter had hugged him, said she was glad he was her father, had been willing to let the man be a father, then she had died of poison in his own arms. Lannister said all that looking forward, perhaps to hide the tears in his eyes from Tormund. 

“I'd gut the man did that to me,” Tormund said. Though he'd known all his children from birth, loved them and been loved by them. 

Lannister turned to him then and smirked. “Oh, the woman, Ellaria Sand, best stay south because I will run my sword through her if I ever set eyes on her again.”

He should have left it all at that, but found himself asking, “Did you mean to make babes with your sister?” It was one thing to take her as a lover, hadn't it been another to make children with her. 

Lannister looked at him, his face in a half frown. “Joffrey... could have been the King's as much as mine, we had both... been there when it might have counted. Cersei assured me it was mine, but,” said with a Jaime shrug, “she didn't truly know. I hadn't known for sure until he'd come out looking just like me, my nose and chin and golden hair. Just like his mother they'd said.” Lannister sighed. 

“She loved that boy,” Lannister continued, “more than anyone else. So when she asked for another.” Lannister shrugged. “And Myrcella was a girl, so she wanted another son.” He turned to Tormund, his dark green eyes open and honest. “I always had a hard time saying 'no' to anything she asked of me. At least the next two I knew what she was asking of me, even though I'm not sure she ever understood it herself.” He frowned. 

Tormund gave a half frown himself and they both turned to look ahead. He wasn't gonna go and ask about the man's sister-lover, wasn't gonna do it. But, Tormund wondered, he'd heard Lannister say he loved her, had she loved him though? 

They rode on in silence. The day already growing dim between winter and traveling farther north. Tormund wasn't sure what else needed to be said, but he had to admit he wasn't a fan of silence. 

“Heard you fucked a bear,” Lannister finally said.

“Aye.” Tormund gave a wide, cocky grin. “Sheila.”

“It had a name?” Lannister scrunched up his face and shook his head. “I could use a laugh. Tell me about fucking the bear.” So Tormund had, and they'd laughed and perhaps for a time hadn't thought about lost children. 

#

Tormund found himself actually liking swapping stories with the Lannister bastard. The southron lord had dozens about battles and tourneys – fighting for fun, not exactly something Tormund completely grasped – drinking stories with his brother, whoring ones – not that Tormund got the feeling Lannister himself much took to the paid fucking. Tormund wondered if Lannister's stories were as embellished as his own. The golden man with his cocky smirks and grins always had another to tell whenever Tormund finished. 

“What tales do you know of the Targaryens?” Tormund asked when he'd stopped his laughter at his own tall tale. Dragons was all Tormund knew about them, that and the Dragon Queen to the south was one, Jon Snow himself as well it seemed. The name still sent men south of the Wall quaking and Tormund wondered what he didn't know. 

Lannister gave a huff and shook his head. “Targaryens. I don't know good tales of Targaryens, except the screams of burning men while the Mad King laughed, the pleas and cries of his wife when he later raped her.” He sneered and rode in silence for a time. 

Finally Lannister turned to Tormund and spoke, “Targaryns, they wed brother and sister for generations, have they told you that?”

Tormund shook his head. “Nay.”

Lannister nodded. “Rhaegar Targaryen's parents Aerys and Rhaella were brother and sister, although unwillingly wed.” Rhaegar, Tormund knew as the supposed father of Jon Snow, lover and possibly wife to Lyanna Stark his mother. “Their parents were Jaehaerys and Shaera, also brother and sister. Although they wed in secret for love. The Targeryens tended to wed those of their name, or at least blood. My father wished to marry my sister to Rhaegar, him and King Aerys being good friends. But, while the Lannisters were Targaryen supporters we have no Targaryen blood, so Elia Martell was chosen instead, as the Martell's do hold some.” 

“Why do you tell me this?” Tormund glared, his lips pulled back in disgust. What did he want to hear about Targaryen incest? 

The Lannister bastard shrugged. “So it's not a surprise when someone does finally mention it.” He turned and opened his mouth like maybe he'd say more. Tormund snorted and glared further. Lannister actually shut his mouth and fell back into silence. 

So it wasn't a surprise? Tormund fumed. He'd follow Jon Snow anywhere, he'd known this before he knew the man might be some silly dragon. Why did it matter Jon Snow's father was born of incest, twice over at that? 

They rode in silence for a good times, until dusk fell and they got off their horses. “You southron high lords are damned silly folk,” Tormund commented. 

Lannister shrugged as he handed the reins of his horse off to his boy squire. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made up the names of most of Tormund's family and changed them from what is known in the books to match the show better. I noted that Jaime and Tormund are of a similar age in the show, and both can be big talkers in their own way, so wondered what happened if I actually got them talking.


	16. Army of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figures rushed forward with the approaching mist. Men, women, even children, most in rags of furs, a few the black of the Night's Watch came at them. Their eyes glowed pale blue and unblinking out of the freezing darkness. These creatures would have stilled Jaime when he was yet a great swordsman, now they sent a jolt of fear through him.

They were almost to the Gift and then Castle Black when Jaime invited Jon and Tormund to dine in his tent. Jon had been sharing dinners with Tormund and the few Free Folk traveling back north from Winterfell. It had been freeing since the Free Folk bent no knee and they couldn't care less how important he might be. 

Jon had seen Lannister and Bronn sharing a smaller tent, something easy to assemble and take down, low enough and small enough to hold some heat against the cold and whipping wind. This dinner tent was larger though, tall enough to walk in. Its red walls flapped and flayed in the wind. An upturned bowl holding fire gave the open space some warmth. Most of the inside was filled with a table, assembled in parts as Jon had watched the Lannister men put it together and take it apart every evening and morning. The wooden chairs folded as well. Hangings of gold lions fluttered and danced with the red walls. Besides the wine the rest of the food laid on the table was simple, stew, cheese and stale bread. 

Besides Lannister, Bronn and the captain of the archers, a tall, lean man with light brown hair and a wide smile waited for them. Tormund had brought along two other Free Folk, just as rough looking as himself. Jon assumed in the tradition of southern lords he and Lannister were to take the two ends of the table. Lannister's young squire was pouring Jon a glass of wine as soon as he'd sat down. 

The conversation went about as well as Jon thought it might. A clash of cultures as the Free Folk commented on the clothing of the Lannister troops and their way of riding in silly formations. Lannister at least had a good answer for the formations, about organized troops being better able to be commanded in a battle and that the organization needs to exist all the time. Jon wasn't sure how much any of it might matter against the Others, but perhaps Lannister had a point. 

They had not gotten much farther into either conversation or eating when an alarm sounded outside the tent. 

“Intruders?” Bronn stood, his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

The alarm grew louder, Jon assumed from other guards set around the camp's periphery. Everyone was now on their feet. The Free Folk already had weapons ready. Jon drew Long Claw. 

“Form up the light archers in the center of camp until we know which direction to aim.” Lannister stood and his squire already hurried over with the bulk of the man's armor. “The light fighters are with you Bronn.” Jaime sighed. It took much less time than Jon thought it might for Lannister to shrug into his armor. While he fastened the straps of the armor, his squire tightened his sword at his hip. “Find out which way the mass of the threat comes from,” he ordered Bronn. 

Both men hurried from the tent to do as commanded. The Free Folk besides Tormund left to join their own limited men. 

“Good enough.” Lannister waved off the rest of his armor from his squire. “Grab your own steel, Kywin,” the Lord Commander said as he strolled into the night. The boy grabbed a sword and stumbled after while trying to fastened the belt to his narrow waist. 

Outside the night was cold and clear. Jon strolled with Jaime to the loudest of the alarms. Bustled action and yells of men echoed in what had been stillness only moments before. The Lannister troops were already in formations, the archers with bows ready to cock, the light fighters with their swords drawn and bows hanging on their backs. 

A wind whipped from the north and a chill ate to Jon's bones. “Wights,” he spoke, his breath suddenly frosted thick before him. 

“What?” Lannister stepped closer and peered where Jon looked. Jon had not properly seen them yet, still he knew in his bones what cold mist rushing toward them meant. His hands gripped Long Claw and his lips tightened. 

“The Army of Dead.” Jon shook his head, because how they had gotten past the Wall?

“North,” Lannister yelled loud enough to be heard despite the wind. “Attack comes from the north.” 

“You need fire.” Jon took a deep breath as fear rose in his chest. 

“Light torches,” Lannister commanded his men. The squire ran off and returned with one. “Stick close, Kywin boy, you're my right hand tonight.” Because Lannister hadn't a spare one for a torch, or a Valyrian blade as Jon himself. But, Jon had to trust the Kingslayer could take care of himself. 

#

The undead? Jaime peered further into the rising cold wind, a thick mist of snow blew towards them. There were figures out there, hard to see in the darkness and he wondered how Snow knew it was the undead at all. 

The King of the North had moved ahead into the mist with the other Free Folk. Behind Jaime the archers lit the tips of arrows. Bronn had the light fighters who were handing out torches. He and Bronn had had many discussions with Jon Snow and Tormund about fighting the Army of the Dead, and had trained the Lannister troops already on handling them. But tonight was going to be a fight like none of them had seen before, Jaime himself included. 

He glanced to see Kywin close to his side. He held the torch away from them both. Kywin's frightened breath puffed before his face. 

Figures rushed forward with the approaching mist. The cold grew worse. Men, women, even children, most in rags of furs, a few the black of the Night's Watch came at them. Frozen flesh hung off them, bone exposed. Their eyes glowed pale blue and unblinking out of the freezing darkness. Jaime's heart hammered in his chest. These creatures would have stilled him when he was yet a great swordsman, now they sent a jolt of fear through him. 

“We got his boy,” Jaime said, his voice somehow not quaking like his insides. “You got my back, I've got yours.” In truth the boy had the better weapon, and Jaime was not certain he could keep himself alive, much less protect the boy. 

Kywin nodded. “Yes, my lord.” 

Then the first of the wights reached them. Jaime swung his sword and sliced through the furs and flesh of the first one its middle. It cared nothing for the wound, and kept coming. “Fire.” Jaime called behind him. He used his sword and his gold hand as best he could to keep a ring around him. Kywin touched his torch to the closest wight and it lit as if made of tender kindling. Jaime kicked its burning body away. Kywin reached as far as possible to lit another and then another. The slight heat did little to warm with the bone cold surrounding them. 

They got into a pattern. Jaime kept the wights from reaching them as always another lunged and reached. His reflexes were quick enough but his stroke not strong and steady enough. Kywin then burned every wight he could. He'd switched the torch to his left and used his sword to shove away the burning remains. 

Overhead the archers loosed a steady stream of burning arrows. The flickering brightness showed a field of wights in the shimmering freezing mist. The captain of the archers Lord Swyft's orders echoed behind them, “Knock, ready, loose,” and again. But more wights seemed to appear with every they slew. If they approached too close to the archers, Jaime himself would not be able to hold them. As more waves came he feared he might have finally seen the battle he'd not come out of. 

Suddenly, Bronn was beside him, a blade cutting through the wights, torch swinging to lit them aflame. The light fighters, more archers than infantry had paired up and held their own with the use of fire. Slowly they made work of the wights and the cold mist lifted with their passing, burned away by the flames flickering in the night as they finally found what peace left them. 

Ahead, Jaime noticed the wildlings with Jon Snow in the mess of the wights. “Hold,” he called to the archers. “We don't want to hit our own.” 

A different figure strolled through the fading mist. A knight of ice, his lines were sharp and angled, even his hair pointed, his eyes the same pale blue of the last of the wights. The flickering flames of their torches reflected and glimmered like stars in his ice armor. A white walker, the word Jaime had heard such a beast called, finally came to mind. The walker raises a long, wide sword, as much ice as himself. One of the light fighter was nearest it. He tried to at least strike at the new abomination, and the walker's ice sword cut through both steel sword and man. Both shattered into a hundred frozen shards of ice. 

Jaime felt his breath taken from him. Seven bloody hells what had that been? The white walker strode through the glittered ice remains of the Lannister man. Jaime raised his sword and reached his gold hand to shove Kywin, torch and all, behind him. Several fucks echoed in the chill air from Bronn beside him.

Snow and Tormund met the white walker before it could reach another man. Whatever matter of beast it was, the white walker was good with a sword. He matched Snow and Tormund blow for blow. It took Jaime a moment to realize why the walker wasn't cutting through them and their swords as he had the Lannister man. Both fought with Valyrian steel, Jon with his blade Long Claw and Tormund held the glinted gold of Widow's Wail. The swords sparked on the walker's icy blade, but held. 

Tormund used his long range well as he fought. There was little finesse to his attacks, no proper training as Jaime had long ago learned as a boy. But the wildling swung strong and steady, blocked and parried well. Jon Snow had a natural grace with a sword. A shorter man, his movements were tight and quick. He handled the great long sword two handed, his stance and footwork showed proer training even in the slick snow. His strikes were calculated. His blocks in place almost before the walker swung. 

Finally, Tormund drove the walker back and Jon got in a killing strike. The white walker stilled and shattered into ice that drifted down to the heavy snow below. Tormund let out a great roar at the feat. Jon slumped and thumped the wildling on the back. The other wildlings cheered and the Lannister troops added to it. 

The mist cleared returning the night to clearness with a heavy moon above. Lannister dead, bright red blood soaking into the snow, littered the camp. A few errant arrows burned themselves out. Melted pockets of snow showed where the wights had fallen. 

“Gather the dead to the west,” Jaime commanded Lord Swyft behind him. “Strip steel, bow, armor and cloaks,” he said softer to the captain now right behind him. “Then burn them.” His captain nodded, shock still on his face. Jaime after all was sending the man north to worse. “You did well, Lord Swyft.” It didn't soften the man's expression any. 

Jon and Tormund came up beside them. Tormund paused and cleaned off Widow's Wail on the woolen pants of a dead Lannister solider. Jaime couldn't help but flick his attention to it. True he couldn't yield it well, and it was better in the two hands of a capable swordsman. But did it have to be that swordsman? Jaime looked over to see Jon Snow catch his gaze. Jaime had willingly given the sword to be used as the damned King of the North thought best. The Lannister sword, slung over the furs of a wildling, wasn't Jaime to be a bit offended? He could almost hear Tywin's voice raging in the back of his head. 

As the excitement of the battle ebbed out of Jaime he felt the chill of his sweat soaked under-woolens. The muscles in his left arm ached with tiredness. Just as always following a fight the thrilled rose up inside Jaime with the fact that he'd survived and yet breathed and lived. Guilt warred with it at seeing those that had not, men under his command who had followed him so far from their homes. New to battles a hard pit of fear settled into his gut over the task ahead. How did they fight and win against such a force? How many of them would really see the coming spring against such odds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the plot just didn't work for Brienne and Jaime to fight side by side in this first encounter.


	17. After Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after the battle. Jaime and Jon find more common ground.

They returned to Lannister's dinner tent, if only because it was big enough for them all to fit inside. Jon noted, him like everyone else, seemed to have had enough of the cold for the night. Tormund and a handful of other Free Folk, Lannister, Bronn, Kywin Lannister's boy squire were there and eventually the Lannister archer captain joined them. He gave as asked a count of the Lannister losses. Lannister himself carted over a new cask of Winterfell ale to open, balancing it oddly with his real and gold hands. 

“First fight, huh, Kywin?” Bronn asked the squire as he filled a mug with ale. Likely a few years younger than Jon had been when he'd gone to the wall, Kywin was already tall, but lanky and skinny, not yet filled out with much muscle. The boy of golden curls nodded and looked awestruck by the battle and the part he'd played in it. Jon had seen enough to know the squire had done a good job as Lord Lannister's missing right with his torch. 

They sat around and drank. The food had grown cold but they ate it still. Jon felt suddenly famished as the blood lust of battle drained from him. 

“No blood.” Lannister finally said. He looked down at his armor as the gold glinted in the flickering light of the fire pit and candles around the tent. 

“Nay, no blood to a wight.” Tormund shook his head. 

Jon thought back to the Battle of the Bastards, how covered he'd been in mud and blood and death afterward. The war ahead would be a different type of fighting, but he'd known that since Hardhome. Jon wondered if having seen the agents of the Night King Lannister wished as much as him for enemies of flesh and bone, that could be killed like Lannister had once told him men died in battles. 

“They didn't smell like a burning body,” Lannister continued, “or move like one either.” 

“You seen many bodies burned?” one of the Free Folk asked, an old scarred warrior from the Frostfangs. 

Lannister's eyes were solid green in an unreadable empty face. “I spent two of the worst years of his rein with the Mad King. I've seen a good many men burned alive.” Lannister's soft words echoed against the flapping of the tent and returning wind outside. 

The Mad King, Jon thought, his grandfather, still hated even so many years after his death. Two of those burned men had been Jon's other grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, and his uncle Brandon. No wonder he'd rather embrace being a Northman than the threat of becoming a madman. 

“Now there's the good stuff.” Tormund smiled. 

A Free Folk named Orthal entered with a wide and holding up two skins. The Free Folk emptied their mugs of ale and passed along the skin to pour themselves some soured goat milk. Jon almost shook his head, but took some when offered. It wouldn't look right to not have at least a drink offered by the Free Folk. 

“Finish down your ale,” Tormund told Lannister as he clanked his mug against Lannister's.

Lannister and Bronn each did and got poured some of the Free Folk drink too. Bronn sputtered after his sip, cocked his head and narrowed his eyes into his mug. “Fucking strong stuff.”

Lannister only lifted an eyebrow after taking his own deep swallow. Perhaps the Kingslayer had better practice at keeping his face set, but it impressed the Free Folk, who laughed at this southern lord still dressed in fancy armor not taken aback by their harsh drink. 

“I'm a Lannister,” the man said in explanation. “Drinking is one of the things we do well” Lannister gave that easy cocky grin of confidence he had. It drew further laughter from the Free Folk. 

“Queen Cersei parted from her wine.” Bronn shook his head. “Sure that's sad t' see. She might have t' remember all the wrongs she's done.”

Suddenly Lannister's smile was gone, his face hard and his eyes fogged as he thought about his twin sister in the south, awaiting a trial and execution.

Bronn tightened his lips, maybe realizing his words, actually caring that he'd hurt Lannister's feelings. “Maybe, Lord Tyrion is slipping her some though,” he said. Although, Jon knew Cersei had sentenced her dwarf brother to death and surely there were no good feelings there. 

“Maybe.” Lannister's voice didn't hold much hope that was the case. 

“So what did you think of them, the Others?” Tormund took a sip of his soured goat milk, cocked his head. 

Lannister shook his head and sighed. “It was as if they stepped out of nightmares.” Bronn frowned beside him. “The white walkers can raise the dead they and their wights make?” Lannister asked, his head tilted. 

“Aye,” Jon answered. Lannister didn't say more but clearly he was thinking about how they needed to not feed too many more dead to the army the Night King had already gathered from north of the Wall. 

“Valyrian steel, forged by dragons,” Lannister softly said, the last a well told story about the rare metal. 

Jon noticed Lannister gave only a quick glance at Tormund. Jon had given the Free Folk the Lannister blade moons ago, but tonight was the first time Tormund had actually used it. Should he have let Lannister know who he'd given the sword to, a Lannister sword now, but still half of Ice? 

“Aye, a valuable weapon,” Tormund said. Lannister glared for just a moment. 

“And we taught those Others well tonight, didn't we?” Orthal laughed. 

The Free Folk each began telling their story of the night. Bronn joined in. They had beat them back, with few losses, true. The fact that there were Others south of the Wall chilled Jon's blood. Perhaps it did the same with Tormund, but the large bearded Free Folk clearly didn't want to talk of it tonight. 

Tormund's booming voice was telling of the felling of the white walker. It'd taken them both to kill him and that Jon didn't like to think on. Tormund was regaling the room about Jon seeming to predict the walker's moves and then Lannister whispered, “Rhaegar come back to life.”

“Rhaegar?” Jon asked. The whole room's attention turned to him and Lannister. 

Lounged in a chair, Lannister shrugged. “He had a precise style of fighting. He'd watch his opponent close enough it appeared he'd foretell their actions.” Jon just blinked in reply. “You fight like him, Snow, although you have a natural grace he never held.”

A deep ache settled in his chest. Rhaegar, his father, the man only a name and stories, there was something of him Lannister saw in Jon himself. 

“Who's Rhaegar?” one of the Free Folk asked. Jon didn't look to see who, he found he couldn't take his eyes off Lannister. 

“A Targaryen Prince,” Tormund answered, “man who bed and possibly wed Jon Snow's mother Lyanna Stark.” His father, Tormund had told them, without the word. 

“Tell me about Rhaegar?” Jon managed to ask, his voice just above a whisper. He'd heard the Stark and northern tales of the man, but here was a man who had actually known Rhaegar more personally. 

“Rhaegar?” Lannister shrugged again. “He was tall and fair.” Two things Jon himself was clearly not. “He had hair white as snow, curled like yours, that he wore long over his shoulders. His eyes were a dark violet. He was handsome as Targaryens were, not gorgeous like a Lannister though, too many angles and sharp edges. He wore black armor with three dragons and rubies, a helm with banners that danced in the wind like flames. When he wanted he could charm anyone. He was a good swordsman, but it was never something he relished, only something he thought he needed to do well, so he did. He had a wonderful voice, and Ser Barriston always said the prince enjoyed singing. What might have won over your mother.”

Lannister tilted his head. “There was always a melancholy air to Rhaegar. He was quiet and private and rarely smiled unless he wanted to be charming.” Lannister scoffed. “Maybe you're more like him than you know Jon Snow.”

A quiet fell and Jon thought Lannister was done, when he added, “Rhaegar would have made a good king. More than all the kings and queens I've known to sit the Iron Throne, Rhaegar is the one I would have been proud to serve.”

That hit Jon because Lannister had known several kings and a queen, and that included his two bastard sons and his sister. This man held respect for his father, not blindly either as far as Jon could tell. A moment passed between them. A newfound connection through a man dead before Jon had been born, a man who he shared blood with, a dragon Jon might be more like than he'd thought before. 

“Ya gonna drop and bend a knee?” Tormund mocked Lannister.

That drew a chuckle from Lannister. A smirk grew on his handsome features. “I've bent my last knee to any king or queen,” he said, drawing a laugh from the Free Folk. 

“Besides,” Jon said, “I don't want the damned Iron Throne.” If he could just keep the North safe through the Long Night, that's all he wanted. 

“Good choice, boy.” Lannister smiled and nodded. “Besides, you're King of the North. I'm not a Northman, and Seven Hells I don't mean to live the rest of my life here.” 

They returned to their stories and jolly. Jon glanced over at Jaime Lannister. The other man half raised his ale mug to Jon while the conversation drifted over them. Jon nodded and returned the gesture. Perhaps tonight he had strengthened an alliance, and with a man who had once been a longtime enemy of the Starks and especially his father turned uncle Ned. 

#

The wildling drink provided was strong and Jaime was a bit buzzed between that and the action of the night. He had believed the stories Jon Snow and the wildlings told, but it was one thing to hear stories and quite another to first hand be fighting the dead. 

The wildlings, who had all seen this before, all been fighting this battle already, continued with their stories and laughing and drinking. Bronn was bemoaning them not having any women, while Tormund laughed that Bronn had one and he didn't need to claim another. Jaime knew well how to play the game of bravado, to look strong and act the swordsman he no longer was, to speak with authority. The wildlings did a rougher, coarser version of it, but it was all just the the clanking of armor to prove yourself a better man. Like having enough mastery to keep his face solid despite that first strong sip of the wildling drink. 

With a sigh, Kywin finally plopped asleep. Bronn cuffed Jaime's shoulder and gave a shrug of his face. An ale and a half in, combined with the late hour and the fighting, Jaime was impressed with the boy. Although not as much a boy anymore, not after tonight. Someday, if his young cousin lived out the winter the tale of his first battle would be fighting undead, torch in hand, side by side with the Kingslayer himself. 

Jaime reached out and righted Kywin's head to lay more comfortably on his arms. His hand paused in the golden curls. The boy was just a few years younger than Tommen would be, with those same golden curls. 

“He's blood?” Tormund asked, gesturing to the boy. “Your boy knight.”

“Squire, they're called squires.” Jaime nodded. “Yes, he's a cousin, a Lannister.” Jaime took another sip of the strong wildling drink and let it warm him despite the chill in his bones at the reality that they faced. 

“You didn't do bad tonight, Kingslayer.” Tormund meant it in truth, no hidden schemes or meaning in his words. Wildlings and usually Northerners didn't do either. 

Jaime couldn't keep the scoff from escaping his lips. Lord Commander of an army or not, he sat here the least of these men as a warrior. Oh, Jaime was well aware of that, these men were aware of it now too. He gazed down at his gold hand. 

“I lived, at least,” Jaime replied. In the Battle of King's Landing when he'd already lost everything, he didn't care that wading into a fight as only a decent swordsman might get him killed. Who would mourn his loss? Brienne, he thought, now he had Brienne. He'd missed her these last few weeks. They'd only just begun whatever it was they had between them. Stepping into that fight tonight risked his life and her grief. Using a boy to help him survive, risking his blood relative's devotion to make sure he walked away. Jaime scowled. 

He looked at the faces around him. Tormund and Jon Snow shaking their heads. Bronn sighing at Jaime's suddenly sullen mood. Tonight had been a win, an eye opening experience, but Jaime was done with faking the chest thumping for tonight. 

“I'm going to put the boy to bed.” Jaime rose and made to lift Kywin. He saw a few think of offering to help. A frown from Jaime paused them. It was awkward getting the boy lifted and on his shoulder with his gold hand, although Kywin was tall he wasn't heavy. Jaime pushed away the thought of the last time he might have ever carried any of his own children. 

The cold of winter outside whipped through Jaime. He placed Kywin into the tent he shared with Bronn, bundled his cousin in furs and wondered how long it would take for trapped body heat to warm the small space. He sat awake, listening to the wind rawl at the red fabric of the tent. 

Brienne's arms around him would be nice tonight. He'd like to tell her everything he'd learned, talk through everything he now feared, share his thoughts on new strategy ideas. Instead he sat and listened to winter and tried to hope life had more happiness than grief ahead, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might have taken some liberties with comparing Jon and Rhaegar in fighting styles, but it made the story go where I wanted.


	18. The Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Sansa deal with visitors bearing requests.

Brienne wore the new tunic that Sansa had made her. It was blue velvet, laced up the sides with a high enough neck to both keep her warm and hide the scars left by the bear, something Sansa had seen once when they shared a room at Castle Black. Sansa had embroidered the star burst and crescent moon of the Tarth sigil on it in gold and silver respectively. It was actually rather lovely, cut to emphasize what little breast and waist Brienne had, and not a dress. 

Perhaps what she liked best was that she could touch the outline of the necklace Jaime had given her through the thick fabric. She fingered it now, the round gold lion pendent and sapphire, then dropped her hand and clenched them behind her back. It did not help her anxiousness but did at least find something for her idle hands to do. 

With King Jon and Jaime away the head table at dinner had been sparsely populated. Yesterday Arya had ridden south for reasons she did not tell Brienne herself, although she might have told Sansa. While Lady Sansa did trust and use Brienne, Arya rarely did so, and truthfully did not likely need Brienne's aid in her protection. That would have left only Brienne, Sansa and Ser Davos at the table, had Lord Baelish not again returned from White Harbor and the Vale further south. Brienne would much prefer the shrewd little man to leave them and Winterfell alone for good, but clearly he thought there was still a debt to be repaid by Sansa. Which distressed Brienne most of all. 

Jaime and Ser Davos' plans for a western route of good had paid off today, bringing in the first shipment of food, goods, swords, armor and more Lannister troops. Lord Baelish had tried to keep his dislike of such off his shrewd face at dinner. His trips to White Harbor he'd claimed to be for supplies from the east, from the Vale. He did not like that Jaime might be cutting him out of being the full supply support Winterfell had.

Otherwise, Lord Baelish had been polite at dinner. He brought or possibly shared only limited news from the south. The Dragon Queen had taken the Riverlands as they had thought. The Vale and Littlefinger were working on coming to some agreement for her not doing the same there. For now the Westerlands had not been approached by the new queen, perhaps because of her Hand Tyrion. Brienne wondered if it also might be that Queen Daenerys wished to talk to Jaime the Warden of the West in person first. 

Now, however, they were all in King Jon's solar. Lord Baelish sat down in a chair near the fire, straightened and settled his long tunic. “You have, I assume, considered my proposal since our last meeting, Lady Sansa.” He gave a small rather fake smile. 

“What proposal, m'lady?” Davos asked. Baelish's gaze slid to the older man standing near the fire and then to Brienne standing behind Sansa. 

“A marriage proposal of Lady Sansa to her cousin Lord Robin from a Vale,” Brienne answered for Sansa. She had hated the idea when first Sansa mentioned it and still hated it now. It not only meant Sansa being taken from Winterfell, but also yet another arranged political marriage, the third Sansa would have. 

Davos frowned. Baelish tilted his head and gave another small smile. “A formal way to solidify the alliance the North and the Vale have already made,” Baelish said. Brienne tightened her lips because marriage was how such things had been done for so long in Westeros. Had she been from a more important family such as Sansa protests or not Brienne would long ago have been married and possibly even born heirs. 

Sansa leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and resettled her gown. “I don't mean to marry again, ever.”

“Dear Sansa, you know that it is not really a possibility for you to not marry.” Baelish gave a small frown. “Much as I know why you desire such.”

Brienne cocked her head. “Why must she marry?”

Baelish looked up at Brienne. “Not all ladies have the means of... shirking their duty as you have... Lady Brienne.” 

There was more to his words, indications that Brienne had not only forsaken her duty as a lady for being a knight, but also that she had dishonored her family and father by whatever she had done with Tormund and Jaime. Brienne shoved such thoughts down, because right now she needed to care more about how to deal with this man before her, than consider what dishonor she had already done. 

Sansa tightened her lips but did not frown. “You should have thought of me marrying again before you made the last deal for my hand.” 

“I will be eternally sorry to have made such a grave mistake with the match.” Baelish somehow made a bowing motion while still seated. He looked meek although it only made Brienne's nerves jiggle more at what game he might be playing now. 

“I was grateful when to make amends you brought your requested aid during the battle to retake Winterfell.” Sansa kept her tone neutral, her expression stone. 

Davos frowned, possibly upset with how formal and polite the conversation was. “What deal have you made with Queen Daenerys?” Davos cocked his head. “You wouldn't've left the Vale if you hadn't already had a deal.”

Baelish gave a tight smile. Silence fell. They could not really believe anything out of Littlefinger's mouth anyway. Baelish looked at Sansa, glanced to Davos and Brienne. 

“They stay,” Sansa said. “We will not be having this conversation in private.”

Baelish again somehow bowed while seating. “As you desire, dear Sansa.” He paused, resettled his tunic. “I have told Queen Daenerys that as part of the Vale's... payment for some amount of continued autonomy I could help forge a stronger alliance with the North.”

“You promised me in marriage to Lord Robin Arryn without my permission?” Sansa's voice rose. “Without King Jon's permission? And came here to inform us of such when you knew Jon would be away.” Sansa stood as her voice grew louder. She frowned down at Lord Baelish. 

“The answer Petry is no.” Sansa turned her back and walked to the window. 

“Sansa, you must at least consider.” Baelish leaned forward in his chair, his voice as sweet as honey. 

“No.” Sansa repeated. “Ser Davos, see Lord Baelish out.”

Davos did not quite smirk as he waited for Baelish to raise, give Sansa's turned back one last long look and then walked before the King's Hand from the room. 

Brienne frowned and took a few steps closer to Sansa. She did not truly understand what Sansa had endured under the hands of Ramsey, but she did understand not wanting to be promised and passed like nothing but property. What woman truly wished that once they knew the truths to marriage. 

“I should have at least pretended to consider before telling him no.” Sansa let out a shaky breath. She looked over her shoulder at Brienne and frowned. “Not the best playing of the game.”

Brienne wanted to say that Sansa shouldn't even be attempting to play such games with Littlefinger. “What does it matter? Your answer was no either way.”

“Robin is younger and weak, and I would only have to bear him long enough to bear a son...” A sigh finished the rest of Sansa's words, until she could be rid of her cousin turned husband. What ill had Littlefinger taught Sansa in her time in the Vale?

“He is right about one thing.” Brienne took another step closer until they stood beside each other. Light snow fell outside the window and frost coated the edges of the window panes. “Eventually you will need marry again. If nothing else for the Stark name.”

Jon was a Snow not a Stark, and while Bran still lived it seemed he was unable to father a child. That left the task to Sansa and Arya, the later likely to never agree to any marriage at all. 

“Just like you will eventually need an heir to Tarth.” Sansa turned to look at her with those deep blue eyes. She cocked her head. 

Brienne bowed her head and let out a breath. Yes, eventually she would need an heir. While Jaime desired her in his bed, held her in his heart, did he really know what it meant for her to be his lady in full. Large, lumbering, scarred Brienne would ever embarrass him. Worse she would grant him plain and awkward children instead of the gorgeous Lannisters she knew so many others could bear for him.

“Yes, but not today,” Brienne said. 

“There's more to his request, and whatever deal he's made with the Dragon Queen.” Sansa nodded. 

“You mean to talk with him in private?” Brienne tilted her head. She most disliked the idea of this, not that she believed Lord Baelish would harm Sansa, just that sometimes she wondered how much of the full truth would get back to them from Sansa. 

“He won't tell it to me unless we're in private.” Sansa turned to her and her face held a resigned honesty. “Don't worry Brienne, I know how to be careful around him.” Brienne frowned, because that was not all that she worried about

#

Young Lady Lyanna Mormont was a diminutive and fearsome little girl. Brienne reasoned that perhaps she was 12, perhaps. Her dark hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. She wore a plush fur lined cloak and a harsh expression on her pale face. 

“Something must be done about it.” Lyanna's voice echoed louder through the Great Hall than Brienne thought possible. “They have not reached Bear Island, yet, but it's only time if they've gotten over the wall, gotten that far south.”

“Yes. Yes.” Sansa nodded. “What you and your men report back is most... worrisome.” She sat on the chair Jon usually used as his 'throne'. Davos stood on one side and Brienne stood armored on the other. 

Lady Lyanna claimed her men, while ranging off Bear Island, had come into a fight with undead. They only narrowly escaped after hacking the moving corpses to pieces. Ten men were dead, and as Brienne heard this was not an insignificant number to House Mormont's forces. Brienne inwardly bemoaned again how much the North had lost in the War of the Five Kings. Young Lyanna's own mother and sisters, why the child now ruled her house.

“And what will be done about it?” Lyanna frowned, which made her look even more stern. Brienne was not certain if she liked the little Lady Mormont or not. 

“We can send men from Winterfell north to put a stop to any more,” Brienne said. “It was just the undead that your men saw?” She tilted her head. “Not a white walker, a knight of ice?” King Jon and Bran Stark had been certain that the forces of the dead could not cross the Wall. They claimed it held spells worth more than the ice that made its towering height. So, it was troubling indeed if somehow those spells had weakened. 

“Only the undead they said.” Lyanna's frown lightened a bit. 

“Gather a force, Lady Brienne,” Davos said. “You can leave in a few days.”

Brienne tilted her head. Yes, it would be up to her to do this, would it not? It was not the venture north that paused words in her throat, or facing the undead, although that did worry her. It would be the first time she actually led men, gathered their respect enough to follow her orders as a woman and a warrior. Finally she bowed her head in agreement. 

“We need also send a raven to the Wall,” Davos added to Sansa. 

“Yes.” Sansa nodded. “Perhaps, Lady Brienne's force can escort you partly back to Bear Island, Lady Lyanna, if you so desire.”

Young Lady Lyanna cocked her head and eyed Brienne sternly. Brienne found herself straightening her back all for a child who was possibly half her size. “That would be welcomed, especially if we can rest a few days in Winterfell first.”

“Of course, Lady Lyanna.” Brienne nodded. It would take that time to decide on the size of a force to take and on readying provisions. 

Later as they exited the great hall, her and Sansa falling into stride together back to their quarters, Brienne managed to say, “I will try and do my best leading Jon's men.”

“You will do fine at it Brienne.” Sansa gave her a small smile. “I have faith in such.”

“That is good.” Brienne tilted her head. “Although I do not feel good leaving you with Littlefinger about.” She frowned. 

“I have Ser Davos.” Sansa shook her head. “He's not letting anything happen to me, or letting me make any unwise decisions.” 

Brienne nodded. “True, true.” The other thought Brienne had, and would not mention, is that she might still be gone when Jaime did finally return from the Wall. The days apart already dragged and they would only do so more if her mission took her away for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has gotten better, but trying to write something for JB Online's appreciation week. Will try to keep these chapters coming regularly still. The boys were having fun hanging, figured the girls should to. In other news still a few chapters of important being apart before a big reunion.


	19. Castle Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime arrives at Castle Black and realizes he has to face his past and how much he has changed.

Jaime tried not to look impressed as they neared the Wall. They could see it still a day out of Castle Black. It cut through the rugged winter of the North a wall of glittering ice for as far as could be seen on either side. Not as tall as Casterly Rock, true, but men had built this and supposedly eight thousand years ago. Now he knew why, what it had been meant to protect the kingdoms from. 

He checked his saddle one last time, even though he knew Kywin had already done so. They had left Tormund in the Gift to visit with wildlings and his family. Snow fell, soft and large flakes sure to gather into inches and perhaps even feet if it kept up. The chill air already looked a dull white in the wane light. The land here rolled on with white snow covered hills. Jaime wondered if it ever truly thawed even in the greatest warmth of summer. 

A bright golden color caught his eye. He looked to the top of the nearest tent, yet to be taken down for the day. A hawk alighted on it, tucked in wide brown wings. It cocked its golden crested head and lowered beady yellow eyes on Jaime. He tilted his head in reply and an ache thickened in his chest. 

Bronn clapped him on the shoulder, pulling his attention away from the hawk, away from the pain and what it might mean. “Ready to ride, Lord Commander?” 

Jaime gave a small nod. The hawk said nothing, but widened its wings and took back to the air. Jaime watched it circle in the sky before heading south. “Yes. Form up the men.” His words felt thick on his tongue and he swallowed. “At least Castle Black will be a roof over our heads tonight.”

“Who knows if'n it will be much more.” Bronn shrugged his eyebrows and mounted his horse. He barked out the last of orders to form the troops and get them moving. They needed to make good enough time to be in shelter if the snow did continue as it appeared it might.

Castle Black was a wreak of a place, fallen stones, crumbling towers, deathly cold rooms. It almost reminded Jaime of Harrenhal, although perhaps that was just his longing to be back south, back in the arms of Brienne. The Night's Watch itself had perhaps a hundred men left and Jaime thought that might be generous. It meant plenty of room for the Lannister troops and the remaining light of the short day was spent setting up quarters in a previously abandoned portion of the castle. 

They meet that night for dinner in the Lord Commander's chambers around a long table. The current Lord Commander Edd Tollett was a rough younger man wearing ratted black furs and boiled leather armor. From just his coarse letters requesting help for the Wall of Queen Cersei Jaime had some idea of who the man was. 

Captain Swyft was eating downstairs with his men tonight. Jon Snow chatted with a fat maester and Tollett. Bronn talked with a large man dressed in Night's Watch black. He turned to reveal a scarred face that Jaime could have recognized anywhere. 

“Clegane?” Jaime narrowed his eyes and didn't care if surprise showed in his voice. 

“Lannister.” Sandor Clegane nodded. “What you doing this far north?”

“Could ask the same.” Jaime stepped forward into the room towards the Hound. “You haven't taken the Black have you?” Brienne had mentioned fighting the Hound back in the Vale and perhaps his limp was from her. Clegane was a rough enough man to be a brother of the Night's Watch, but it didn't seem like him. 

Sandor scoffed in reply. “You workin' for the fucking Starks these days?” 

“I work for no one but myself.” Jaime's voice attested to that more than reality, because he would follow Brienne, possibly even Jon Snow. Wasn't he up here giving men to the Wall at the King of the fucking North's suggestion? 

“Lord Commander Lannister?” The maester walked closer. A thick round young man whose face somehow still sweated in the cold. “I'm Samwell Tarly. A raven just arrived from King's Landing...”

“My sister is dead.” Jaime should have called her Queen Cersei, she had earned that title and loved it more than anything. But, she was his sister before all of that, and it was all that mattered to him anymore. 

“Yes,” Samwell answered as if Jaime had asked a question. 

“I already knew.” And he had, he realized, had known he was alone in the world as he hadn't been ever before. For good or ill, Cersei had always been there, always. Jaime thought to the hawk this morning with its golden head and wondered if it was a way of the gods allowing her to say goodbye. 

Samwell continued, “There were more details if you'd ---”

“Which dragon?” Jaime interrupted. He already knew that was how his dear sister had gone, screaming as she burned alive. 

Samwell fumbled for a moment. All eyes in the room were on them. “Viserion, it said.”

Jaime bust into laughter, mad laughter that sent worry to the faces around the room, even Bronn's “Valonqar,” Jaime said, as if that explained it all. Viserion, a little dragon named for Rhaegar's little brother. 

“The... former queen said the same.” Samwell frowned not getting their meaning. “She also cried out your name.”

Jaime almost rounded on the portly maester for giving his nightmares that detail. 

“Why the fuck would he want to know that?” Sandor's voice boomed. 

Jaime snapped his eyes to the big man as Samwell cowered back with a frown and apologetic eyes on Jaime. Sandor shoved a full ale tankard into Jaime's chest, and Jaime wrapped his hand around it, thick foam spilling over his fingers. 

“We could drink to the icy bitch,” Sandor said, “but who here's not glad she's dead.” The Hound glared down at Jaime, daring him to say otherwise. Sandor didn't wait for a reply before raising his mug and drinking down half of his own ale. Bronn raised his mug to drink a silent toast as well. 

That broke the mood enough that they sat and ate the food already waiting for them. Jaime wasn't sure stew was really a word for the gruel in the bowls, and he didn't want to ask what the unidentified meat might be. At least the ale was strong, almost enough to overpower the drab food and keep away the cold even in this privileged room of Castle Black. 

Jon Snow caught up with events on the Wall from Tollett and Samwell. Bronn listened in and would hopefully relay info to Jaime later because he didn't feel like paying any of it his attention tonight. Jaime himself sat at the other end of the table across from Sandor, once Cersei's loyal dog and then Joffrey's after that. 

“What the fuck would it matter if I have taken the black?” Sandor scowled, only making his ugly scarred face uglier. “Never been a woman willing to marry me.”

“You're the last Clegane.” Jaime tilted his head and sipped his ale. 

“Gregor finally dead.” Sandor took a big bite of bread. 

Jaime had forgotten how rough everything out of the Hound's mouth was. If nothing else it reminded him of another time, an earlier time where perhaps Jaime had been a blinded fool, but he'd known his place in the world. 

“Gregor's been dead since Oberyn Martell's blade poisoned him.” Jaime tried not to shiver at the memory of what Qyburn had transformed Sandor's horrible brother into. 

Sandor shrugged and didn't reply to that. “Don't see you havin' a wife either. Don't you need more Lannisters?”

Jaime shrugged. “There's still plenty of Lannisters.”

Sandor scoffed, drank down more ale, and wiped his lips with the black greasy sleeve of his tunic. “That big lumbering Tarth bitch is in Winterfell, ain't she?”

“Don't call her bitch.” Jaime's voice was a low growl. The other end of the table quieted and turned to them. Which meant Jaime would admit to Brienne being lumbering and big. She was both after all, and he loved her still. 

Sandor smirked wider and gave a chuckling laugh. “You gonna use that fucking gold hand to hit the smirk off my ugly face?”

Jaime was tempted to do just that, hope someone in the room would make sure Sandor didn't kill him after. 

“That is your sword strapped to the big woman's hip, ain't it?” Sandor cocked his head, still smirking. 

“It's her sword.” Jaime tightened his lips and thought about clenching his missing right hand tight and firm for a good punch. 

Sandor shook his head. “Fucking Lannister gold and Lannister lions. You fucked her yet?” At the other end of the table, Bronn frowned and Jon looked on worried.

“You fuck the Stark girls?” Jaime replied. He could words as well as the Hound.

Sandor shook his head. “Never touched 'em. I rode with the little wolf bitch, didn't lay a hand on her.”

Jaime assumed that was Arya. “Didn't teach her to kill?”

Sandor shrugged. “She was a murderous cunt 'fore she got to me. Only taught her where to poke that little sword of hers, nothing more.” He shook his head. “And the Little Bird,” he continued, “I saved her, should have done more.” He sighed and shook his head again, actual remorse showed on his scarred features. “But I never touched her, even on the orders of your monster of a bastard.”

Jon stiffened. “That's Lady Ayra and Lady Sansa you talk of.”

“Fucking is.” Sandor lifted his mug and finished off his ale. “Don't fucking care you got a problem with it bastard fucking King of the tits cold North.”

Bronn chuckled at that and Jaime made a note he should hope the two men not get too chummy if only for the crude power they'd have together. 

Jaime gave a laugh and shook his head. “You haven't changed at all, Sandor.”

The large man shrugged and leaned to pour himself more ale. “I got fucking reason to change?” He took another long gulp of ale and cocked his head. “You think you've changed, Kingslayer.” Jaime had lost a great deal to be the more honorable man he wanted to be, to be the man who Brienne could love, to be the one in charge of what he made of his own legacy. Sandor shook his head and reached across and tapped Jaime's chest, just outside his heart. “But you're still as fucking rotten and evil inside as ever.” He sneered. 

Anger rose in Jaime because that wasn't true. He almost rose and knocked the sneer from the Hound's face. Bronn placed his hand on Jaime's shoulder and gave him a questioning look. Jaime smirked and said instead, “Fire? How are you fighting the wights without fire?” He'd heard the story of how the Hound had turned and run away from the Battle of the Blackwater because of the wildfire. Jaime didn't blame the man for his fear, but two could play at twisting cruel words. 

Sandor shoved his chair back, downed the last of his ale and leaned forward until his face hovered before Jaime's. “Even with your pretty armor and pretty face, you ain't ever been any fucking better than me Kingslayer. Best you remember that.” He glowered down at Jaime as he rose to his full height and stormed from the room. 

Bronn chuckled. “Some men need to lighten up.” 

Jaime frowned and stood himself. He nodded, didn't find so didn't use words, and left himself. The cold here was bone deep and he wondered again if a chill remained even in the warmth of summer. Snow fell thick and covered the empty courtyard below. Icicles hung from roofs and balconies, in places thicker than his leg and almost reaching to the ground. Snow piles a story tall stood from cleared snow and would grow taller tomorrow. Above, the Wall hung covered in mist, the top hidden by the swirling snow. 

He made his way to his room. Kywin had started the fire although it only made the cold bearable. At least Jaime wouldn't freeze overnight. The thin bed was covered in the furs from his tent and looked lush and excessive in the barren room. A hard place and hard men, not that Jaime hadn't already known as much about Castle Black. 

#

Sleep barely found him that night. In his dreams Cersei's sweet, innocent summer kisses grew into sparks that caught and spread up her naked body. She writhed and danced beneath the flames, high-pitched screams of his name torn from her throat. He awoke several times to the flickering of the fire, breath frosting before his face and sweat on his brow. He could use Brienne's embrace, or just her stoic presence beside him. Finally he shoved aside the furs and dressed again. 

Dawn hadn't risen when he made his way to eat a silent breakfast in the almost warmth of the kitchen. A wildling woman worked there, even though Jaime thought only men manned the castle. Her young boy with brown curls ran underfoot banging pots. Jaime returned the boy's dimpled smile and got a giggle. For a moment Jaime let himself think about him and Brienne someday having children he could claim, little heads topped with fair curls and bright blue eyes. 

Eventually, steel sounded from the courtyard. The men of the Night's Watch had awoken. While some cleared the feets worth of snow from the night before, others practiced with blunted practice swords. Jaime watched for a time. Their footwork was all wrong. They held the swords like farm instruments and slashed as if reaping grains. 

With a frown Jaime found himself commenting and then standing to instruct them. They were all right handed so he used his gold hand to display how they should be standing and moving. They were all young, some barely no longer boys, common born and rough. But they gladly took to his help, all but one listening intently. He wondered which may just be thiefs, which rappers and murders. If they fought for good now what did it matter what they had done before. He himself was no innocent. 

Jaime looked up to see the Lord Commander and Jon Snow watching them from a balcony. Not seeing a reason to stop, Jaime continued his lesson until the wildling woman rang a bell for the morning meal. Lord Commander Tollett invited Jaime over to his table. He sat down across from the plump maester Sam who bounced the wildling boy on his knee. 

“Little Sam,” the maester named the boy, “but he isn't mine.”

“You're Randyll Tarly's elder son.” It suddenly occurred to Jaime. This plump man before him looked nothing like the thin, harsh Lord Randyll.

Sam nodded and gave a slight frown. “Yes. I am.”

“If not you, then who does the boy belong to?” Jaime asked. He waved off the food offered by a steward. 

“He's Craster's only living son, from north of the wall.” Sam took a knife from the boy's reach and gave him a fork to bang instead. “Gilly, his mother, was one of Craster's daughter wives.”

Jaime cocked his head and looked at the healthy child with strong limbs and rosy cheeks. “Daughter wife? His father was also his grandfather?”

Sam blanched a bit. “I know how that sounds...”

Jaime chuckled. “You have heard the stories of me and Queen Cersei.” Sam nodded quickly. “All true.”

Sam swallowed and looked too shy to be Tarly's son. “I've claimed little Sam, even if he's not mine. The babe Gilly's carrying now is mine though. Although I suppose it'd be a Snow not a Tarly.”

Jaime outright laughed. This plump seeming soft man had sworn two oaths of celibacy, one to the Night's Watch and another to the Citadel, and had still taken a woman and openly admitted she was going to bear his child. 

“What?” Sam swallowed again. 

“Funny how sometimes sons are more like their fathers than you'd think.” Jaime couldn't help thinking of Tyrion being the disliked son yet so much more Tywin's son than Jaime would ever be himself. 

Jon Snow finally strolled in, his thick fur lined cloak floating behind him. “Bran wants to see you Lannister.” His lips were tightened, cheeks rosy from cold. 

“Brandon Stark?” Jaime felt his stomach drop. Oh to have Brienne be here, even in her silence. 

“He's just north of the Wall, at the weirwood tree.” Snow must have already eaten as well, since he didn't sit or make a motion to eat. 

Jaime himself had no food or drink before him. Nothing to delay him. He gave a deep sigh. “Been a while coming, hasn't it?” He rose to his feet. That damned push had started all of this, although so much had to happen before that push for it to have occurred. He didn't regret pushing a child out of a tower, would do it again, but of his evil deeds it ranked high on those that tainted him. 

“Led the way, Snow.” Jaime caught Bronn sitting at a table beside Swyft. He shook his head, because he trusted Jon Snow enough to know this wasn't a trap. He'd rather face his past sin without the sellsword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Sandor a few lines and he stole a scene, although I think he said things that perhaps Jaime needed to hear. There's this and 2 more chapters then everyone's back to Winterfell for reunion smut.


	20. Past sins and the undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime finally faces Bran over his past sins done to the boy. Lyanna and Brienne chat and face an enemy too close to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This involves memories of Bran being pushed, so has Jaime/Cersei.

Jon Snow had escorted Jaime through the tunnel beneath the Wall and out onto the forest beyond. They rode just the two of them. The drifts coming almost to the flanks of the horses in places. The forest looked much as northern forests, wild and thick, full of hidden creatures there since the First Men ruled this hard land. Eventually they came to a great weirwood tree, larger than even the one at Winterfell. The eyes carved into its pale bark bled red sap. Two figures lounged below the face. A fur hut and camp carved out of the snow sat off to the side.

With tight lips and a furrowed brow, Jon told Jaime to go the rest of the way by himself. Jon stood in snow knee deep with the reins of both horses in his fist. Jaime nodded, let out a shaky sigh that puffed before his face. Ghost, Jon's direwolf, did not hold the same restrictions. He paced behind Jaime as he trudged through the snow to the tree, to Brandon Stark, to the boy he'd once tried to kill. 

Brandon Stark was no longer a boy but a young man, older than either Myrcella or Tommen would ever be. He was thin and frail looking beneath his rough fur clothing and blankets. His features were the dark color of his cousin Jon Snow and sister Ayra. 

Bran looked up at him. “Jaime Lannister,” he said in a voice louder and stronger than his body seemed capable of producing. “Kingslayer.”

Jaime bowed. “Brandon Stark.” They had never really been personally introduced as much as their lives had been intertwined.

Bran gestured for Jaime to sit. It was awkward standing over the young man, so Jaime sat down on the fur laid out beside Bran. Another set of dark brown eyes watched him. Jaime turned his attention to Bran's companion for a moment. A girl about his own age with dark curly hair and matching dark sharp eyes. 

“Meera Reed,” Bran introduced her. 

“Howland Reed's daughter?” Jaime cocked a head. The man who had known the truth about Jon Snow, the only living person now who had been at the Tower of Joy that day. 

The girl didn't answer, just continued to watch him as if he might throttle Bran if she turned away. Her hand gripped a knife in her belt and she looked more than capable of using it. 

What was Jaime to do now? No words would repair the boy, no apology would really take away what he had done. 

“I know what you did, but I still don't remember any of it but the fall.” Bran cocked his head. 

Jaime frowned. “It was good that you didn't.” Not that he knew if he could have killed the boy had he remembered. 

“Who sent the man with the dragon bone knife?” Bran furrowed his brow. 

Jaime had heard of that, a valyrian knife with a dragon bone handle that supposedly had been his brother's. He shook his head. “Not me. Maybe Cersei.” The blade had framed Tyrion. “Littlefinger might have had a hand in it too.” Because that was how Lord Baelish would have played the events. 

“I caught you with her?” Bran said softly. 

Jaime nodded. “Yes.” It had given him the choice of trusting the boy, son of honest Ned Stark, to keep their secret, trusting him with his children's lives. 

“Can you show me?” Bran reached up and touched a hand to the face of the weirwood above. 

Jaime titled his head. How was he to show the boy anything? He glanced at Meera Reed and her watchful dark eyes. Bran reached first for Jaime's right and then his left hand, his remaining hand, the hand he'd long ago used to push this boy from a tower window. 

Then, suddenly he wasn't north of the Wall sitting in snow. They stood, both of them, Bran beside him, in the old tower of Winterfell. Jaime heard the grunts and moans of himself and Cersei and knew what he'd see in the middle of the rough straw covered floor. Him behind Cersei as he thrust into her. He could feel her wet cunt as his hard cock slid in and out again and again. Lust filled his veins and his pleasure steadily grew. 

Jaime glanced beside him to Bran. The boy stood head cocked watching with a great interest a slight blush on his pale cheeks. If this was Jaime's memory, did Bran feel what he had in that moment too? The boy was a young man now, but he was also crippled. Jaime had never thought about it before, but could Bran Stark not bed a woman? Had Jaime broken that as well as the boy's legs?

The waves of lust and need continued to roll through Jaime, as familiar as Cersei's body had once been. He turned back and concentrated on the memory. It played out as Jaime remembered. The frightened boy before him. Cersei's shrill demands behind him. That little chest filled with a pounding heart. He had forgotten the slight relief he'd felt that he and Cersei would not longer be a secret. He had forgotten the fear that replaced it because the truth would mean the death of his sister and his children. Children he felt such a love for in this moment, even if they had never been his. 

The push itself came as easy as he remembered. “The things I do for love,” echoed in the small room. For so long he would have done almost anything for Cersei and what he thought had been her love. Did Bran feel that too, how his memory was flawed, how his thinking then had been wrong? 

Before them Cersei was making plans, how they should leave separate, how they need only let the boy, who'd hopefully be dead, be found by someone else. Jaime had been so blinded by his love, or what he'd thought was love. He turned to see Bran and watched his brow furrowed. Perhaps the boy did know his thoughts now as well as feelings from the memory. By the gods what power was this that the boy had somehow found? 

The Jaime in his memory nodded and sighed, then pulled Cersei back into his arms. He kissed her hard and fierce, ripped her bodice and tumbled her to her back. They fucked and his blood and lust had wrongly been raised by the events. Seven hells, he didn't really want the boy to know that, but was trapped, unable to hold what had been his feelings then. 

Cersei righted herself, frowned at the tear and gave him no affections as she glided back out of the tower. Jaime stood and watched the broken body of Bran below. The boy shifted and stirred, and even from the tower's height, Jaime could see that little chest heave with breaths. He remembered hoping death would take the boy quickly and as painless as possible. He remembered the resignation that the gods, Lady Catelyn's Seven or Ned's old tree gods, had spared the boy death, at least today. 

The vision faded and the scene shifted back to white snow and cold. Bran lay with his eyes rolled back to only whites, helpless. Jaime glanced at Meera Reed who watched over Bran with love and care in her dark eyes, until she caught Jaime's open again. Bran shifted, blinked and was awake again, if they had even been asleep. 

For a time they sat and stared at each other. “Yes, I could feel and remember everything you did in the memory,” Bran finally answered. “As well as some of your thoughts now.” He cocked his head but didn't say anything else. 

“So you can't... with a woman?” Jaime asked, perhaps just because all the rest of his words were too serious. “Have you tried?” He glanced again at Meera, remembering the care in her eyes for Bran.

“Yes,” came Bran's direct reply. 

Fighting and fucking, Jaime once thought he never felt alive unless he was doing one of those things. He knew better now, knew there was more joy to be found in life. He'd perhaps give up fucking Brienne as long as she was there beside him for the rest of his life, perhaps.

“I'm sorry.” The words were out of Jaime's mouth before he'd thought about them, but he meant them. He was sorry he had ruined this boy's life no matter what his reasons had been, no matter if he'd do it again. 

“You were fated to push me.” Bran shrugged. “Thank you though for sharing why you did what you did.”

“Fated?” Jaime shook his head and sneered. “Fuck fate. We're not made by fate, we're made of our choices and actions. I made a lot of bad choices to bring me to that day, and however right my reasons were, my action against you was wrong.” He shook his head again. “None of that was fate.”

“It was all fate.” Bran held him with solid brown eyes and a wisdom a man his age shouldn't have. “Your mother dying, summer kisses with your sister, the Kingsguard, killing Aerys, our shared day, being captured by Robb, losing your hand, finally accepting Brienne.” Bran nodded once. “It was all fate.”

Jaime backed away a bit. He swallowed down his dislike of it all, of being the gods' pawn in some game worse than his father's schemes. “Cersei and our children, just more fate?” 

Bran nodded with a slight frown. “Like my father, mother, brothers.”

Jaime shook his head. “I won't believe that.” He almost said fuck you to the gods, but glanced up to the watchful eyes of the weirwood above and paused the words on his lips. 

“And they don't mean you to,” Bran nodded again with a knowing smile. 

He narrowed his eyes at the young man before him and wondered just what all he knew. “What is the power you have?” Jaime cocked his head. 

“I'm the Three-Eyed-Raven.” Bran's voice was solid, louder, echoing in Jaime's head in a way a voice was not supposed to. “I see everything that was, and is, and will be.”

“And what are you doing with the power?” Jaime tilted his head and pinched his lips. They would all just be pawns to such a power. 

Bran actually smiled and laughed. “And sometimes people can still surprise me.” He paused for a moment and looked at Meera. “I'm trying to find a way to defeat the Night King, to save us all.”

“Good.” Jaime nodded, not convinced that was all Bran meant to do with his powers. Powers that Jaime's injury of him might have allowed to be granted to him. 

Bran looked over Jaime's shoulder at Jon. “You should be going.” Jaime didn't have to look to know Snow likely stood as he'd been left, his gaze as watchful on Jaime as Meera's. 

“He would make as good a king of the realm as you think he might,” Bran said. 

“Good he doesn't really want the damn throne then.” Jaime smirked. “It just corrupts anyone who sits it.” He sighed, thinking about his dear sister and her desires for the stupid fucking thing. 

“Perhaps.” Bran looked at his cousin again and then back at Jaime. He tilted his head. “You know something about the politics of the south, the games people play, the lies and betrayal. Watch out for Jon when he has to deal with them, with Queen Daenerys.”

A request, but not a vow or oath or even promise. Still, Jaime owed this boy, owed him likely anything he asked. Jaime tightened his lips, nodded. “A Lannister always pays his debts, and I owe you much more than this, Bran.”

Bran shook his head. He looked to Jaime's gold hand. They were both cripples now, although Jaime knew his disability was not equal to Bran's. “Not as much as you think,” Bran answered with that odd wisdom of his. 

Jaime pushed himself back to standing. He bowed his head to the quiet watchful Meera, then gave a low bow to the lounging young man Brandon Stark had become. “If you ever need anything else Lord Brandon, you need only ask.”

A half smile lifted on Bran's features. “I will remember that Lord Jaime.” He gave his head a bow as well. 

Ghost trailed after Jaime as he returned to the horses and Jon Snow. The King of the North looked Jaime up and down but didn't ask what he and his brother turned cousin had talked about. Jaime himself felt oddly free. His debt to Bran Stark was not one he would ever be able to pay. Yet, it felt good to have at least spoken to the boy, to have said words of apology even if they changed nothing. 

#

Brienne, her small band of troops, Lady Lyanna and her guards were a week out of Winterfell and all they had seen was snow and more snow, thick forest and a few wolves. Brienne sat down on the log in the camp they had cleared of enough snow for the night. The snow came to her knees in most places, sometimes all the way to the flanks of the horses. Any of the few elders Brienne had talked to only told of worst to come, and those had not been the winter to end all winters they now faced. 

Little Lady Lyanna stood across the fire, her gloved hands outreached to warm herself. Falling snow melted on her dark hair and coated the fur of her cloak. “How far south is Tarth?” her voice as crisp as the night air. 

Brienne tilted her head. “Farther south than King's Landing and Pentos. Thousands of miles.” A reminder she was so very far from home, in a land not her own, surrounded by northerners whose ancestors had been here as long as hers had inhabited Tarth. 

“It's an island, Tarth?” Lady Lyanna sat herself down on a similar log across the fire and gathered her cloak tighter. She was a small young thing, but she had not complained about the pace they set or the depths of the snow or the cold. 

“It is an island. As your own lands are.” Two women who would rule islands on opposite sides of a realm. 

“What is Tarth like?” Lyanna cocked her head. Her dark eyes bore into Brienne. 

“It is forested, green and lush with high waterfalls, surrounded by water of the most sparkling blue color you can imagine.” Nothing like this world of white and grays and drab dark greens. Perhaps it was just her memories, but Tarth seemed more vibrate in her telling. 

“Do you mean to return to it, and rule?” Lyanna reached her hands back out to warm them again. Her cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. 

Brienne nodded. “I hope to.”

“With an heir?” 

Brienne tightened her lips. Yes, if she returns to Tarth it should be with an heir, although such was not as easy a task as perhaps this child thought. “I have heard tales of the warrior women of Bear Island,” she said instead. Brienne had heard of the women fighting off attacks of wildlings, holding their own and protecting their island. While Lady Lyanna held the fierceness of a warrior, Brienne wondered if she had any skills of a fighter. 

“My mother and sisters were all great warriors.” Lyanna held her head up high and proud. All great warriors who followed Robb Stark and are now dead was left unspoken between them in the cold air. 

“Yes.” Brienne nodded. “Your mother never took a husband?” Such a different way of living, to just take no husband and bear bastard children to inherit your lands. It would never work in the confines of the south, but here the rules were skirted, and who would tell this fierce little girl she was not the ruler of her mother's island. 

“My mother bedded with a bear to make me and my sisters.” A smile grew on Lyanna's childish features. 

Brienne found herself smiling in reply. “You do not know your father?” Brienne asked. 

Lyanna shook her head. “No. What does that matter? My mother was a good and strong woman, as were my sisters. What would it matter who or what my father was?”

Brienne tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “I did not know my mother,” she softly said. 

Lady Lyanna frowned, perhaps wrapping such a thought around her head. “And your father?”

“He's a good man.” Brienne sighed. “He's an honorable and fair lord, a kind and loving father.” She missed him, more than she thought about sometimes. How happy would he be to see her give him a grandheir, to let him know Tarth's line would not die with herself? 

This little girl did not know a father's love, or desire it. The father of Maege Mormont's daughters had been one man or many, low-born perhaps, or just not someone she was willing to marry and share power with. Brienne thought about returning from the north with a bastard heir for Tarth. No, she knew if she had a child she wanted a husband to go with it. She thought briefly to Jaime, to the love he said he held for her. The problem was she did not make a good prospect as a wife. While the ugly awkward girl she had been might have managed as a lord's lady, now she had tasted what it meant to be a knight and could not easily give up that life for the duties of such today. The Lord of Casterly Rock did not need a knight as a wife donning armor to greet his keep's esteemed guests. 

“You should get some sleep my lady.” Brienne rose and stamped some warmth and blood back into her feet. “It will be another long day tomorrow.” 

Lady Lyanna dipped her head and tightened her lips. She said nothing, but rose herself and made her way to the tent she shared with her more trusted guardsmen. 

#

A wolf howled. Brienne dreamed of hot breath on her face. The smell of raw meat surrounded her in its wake. A snarl sounded, sharp teeth snapped. Brienne's heart pounded in her chest. Her hands gripped thick course fur. She tried with all her strength to shove the wolf away, but what should be an easy effortless act betrayed her. The wolf came closer and closer and closer.

She bolted awake drenched in sweat. Her teeth clamped down to hold in the scream that threatened to escape. Her chest heaved to take in cold breaths. Her eyes darted to Pod still asleep beside her. She raised her hand to the deep rough pit in the ruin of her right cheek. Her fingers felt it, but the skin of her cheek held little feeling now. It was not enough for the gods to make her an ugly beast, they need also scar her. 

Her chin quivered and a tear threatened to fall. She lifted her knees and hugged them to her chest, rested her face upon the rough wool of her pants. Oh, Jaime said he didn't care about the scar, he said he still found her as beautiful. It was clear he did desire and lust after her as she did him. He was only a fool in love though, as much as she a foolish maid. 

A howl sounded again, not in her dream. Brienne lifted her head, thoughts of fools in love forgotten. A wolf, no a direwolf she thought as another howl echoed. 

“Pod. Up.” She gave her sleeping squire a good push, and then another. “There are direwolves, Pod. Up!”

She tugged on her boots and the chest plate of her armor. It had been chill enough she slept already in her clothing except her armor and cloak. Pod stirred. “Direwolves,” she repeated. “Get up!” She swept on her cloak and exited the tent. Her gloved hands looped Oathkeeper to her hip. 

She sent the Stark man on watch to wake everyone else, and asked Lady Lyanna's man to help her locate where the direwolf attack would come from. Pod stumbled from their tent shaking his head to wake himself. The night was still and frozen almost making her wish for snow to warm them. 

The white and gray direwolf Brienne had seen before on the Stony Shore crested a hill in the dense forest. Brienne tried to still her pounding heart. Last time that direwolf had been friend not foe, but it was still a wild thing, not to be trusted. The large direwolf did not head to them, but instead bounded off to the north. 

“Where's it going?” Pod leaned in to ask behind her. 

Brienne tilted her head. “North.”

“Why?” Pod blinked his sleepy eyes and furrowed his brow. 

Brienne gathered the men who had woken. She didn't bother to count how many wore the white and gray of the Starks and how many the bear of house Mormont. She ordered them to follow her. They had cleared snow for the camp, but out of it the snow rose to her knees. Figures, not wolves, came nearer from out of the forest. Another direwolf howl sounded followed by a threatening snarl. At the figure, not them Brienne realized. 

“Undead,” one of the Mormont men whispered. His frightened breath puffed around him. 

“Steady,” Brienne called, trying to make herself remain so as well. “We need fire to fight them.” She remembered this from the discussions between Jon and Jaime she had listened to. “You and you,” she ordered, pointing to two of the Stark men, “gather torches of fire.” They hurried off. She then turned to Lyanna's master-at-arms and said, “Make sure your lady is protected.” He nodded and spoke to his own men to make sure it was arranged. Later perhaps Brienne would wonder how everyone was following her orders, acting as if she knew what she was doing. Brienne drew her sword and set her feet. 

The figures came closer, close enough to be seen in the flickering light of the camp fires. They wore fur rags. Frozen flesh hung from them showing sinew and bone. Many were unarmed, but others carried axes, mallets or swords. All looked from the darkness with glowing blue eyes. Her heart raced and her hands sweated in her gloves. Still, Brienne steadied her nerves. The Mormont men were already spooked and she needed every man fighting. 

The men she had sent returned with lit torches. Brienne ordered everyone to pair up, one with a sword the other with a torch. She glanced at Pod beside her, torch now in hand and knew she had not needed to look to know he would be by her side. 

Brienne strode forward to begin the attack. The first undead she got across the chest, an injury that would kill a man. It ripped open the rotting ribcage, but no blood came. The creature barely paused. Brienne tightened her mouth. Two handed she hacked off the creature's head and it bounded down into the snow, blue eyes still open and watching her. The body still moved forward. “Seven hells,” she cursed. 

Pod came up and swung his torch, catching the undead and lighting it afire. He shoved it out of the way and swung for the next one. Brienne almost thought of having them trade, her with the torch and him the sword. More undead were upon them before she could think long. She slashed through their frozen dead meat, an easy task for Oathkeeper's blade. While normal enemies would be a pile of corpses surrounding them, the undead still reached and hacked and kicked. Pod lit afire the pieces. 

She took off a head of one and it kept coming, a rusted pike aimed at Pod. Brienne let out a shrill scream. She slashed at its arm and shoved the body down with her shoulder. The pike felt to the snow and the hand writhed until Pod touched it with his torch. She turned to feel a stone hard hand grip her arm. She twirled and speared the undead through with her sword, then kicked its chest to retrieve her sword. The arms she thought, it would be better to take off their arms. Pod danced in front or her. His torch swung in an arch, catching one undead and then another. 

Brienne spared a glance behind her shoulder. They were a small force, barely thirty total, including Lady Lyanna and a few servants. A few undead had passed her and Pod and those who fought them seemed be fairing decently. Lady Lyanna sat mounted on her dark horse, two of her guards stood before her swords drawn. 

The number of undead before Brienne had thinned. She stepped into another attack and brought her sword down on the upper arm of a sword holding hand. She used her knife to drive through what remained of the skull of the undead and the blue light flickered out of its eyes. Pod swung to her right and caught an undead as it almost passed them. She swung two handed at the next undead's face and split it in two. His eyes dimmed as half his head slid downward. A half smile played on Brienne's lips. Perhaps more than fire could do in these cursed creatures. 

She and Pod made quick time of the rest of the undead before them and then helped the others burn the few remaining further into the camp. The final undead fell to Podrick's torch. It saddened her to see two of their own dead. Brienne's chest heaved and her breath frosted before her. She felt warm and alive beneath her plated armor despite the cold in the snowless night. 

“Podrick,” Brienne called. “Make sure that all the remaining undead parts are burned. Gather our dead after so words can be said before they are burned.” She glanced down at the two men, both wearing the white and gray of Stark footmen. Darrett and Emen their names had been, barely older than boys, both from farms south of Winterfell. 

Pod nodded. “Yes, m'lady.” 

Brienne strolled over to Lady Lyanna, unmounted again. Her master-at-arms stood beside her. The girl tilted her head up to look at Brienne. “You fought well and bravely, Lady Brienne.”

“Thank you, Lady Lyanna.” Brienne gave a deep bow. Although they had lost men in the fighting and had been glad it was only the undead wights they had faced not one of the white walker knights of ice. 

“Had they all been wildlings?” Lady Lyanna asked. 

Brienne looked over her shoulder at the remains that were being thrown onto a fire just out of the camp, she thought back to the battle. She shook her head. “No, there were northerners among them.” She remembered having seen course woolen clothes, mailed armor, a ragged tunic with the chained giant sigil of the Umbers. 

It meant dead south of the Wall had been turned undead, something she had been told only white walkers could do. So not only undead but also possibly a white walker, and too close to Winterfell. As the thrill of the battle ebbed from Brienne cold and fear set in. All told there had been perhaps a dozen of the undead. The stories Jon Snow told said white walkers could raise the dead back into their Army of the Dead, he said at Hardhome the undead had numbered in the thousands. And that fight was moving closer to Winterfell. 

They would see Lady Lyanna back to boats to carry her home in the next few days. Then they would range further north on their way back to Winterfell. When she returned King Jon should be back, and she needed to propose to him taking rangers out to know where such enemies might be roaming around the stronghold. War may be coming sooner than they had reasoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the show version of Bran being pushed. I've already given another summary of that scene so was brief in places so as not to repeat too much again. 
> 
> While I know Valyrian steel takes down white walkers, I could find no evidence it does the same for wights, and based the fight on that. 
> 
> I'm currently not ahead on any writing for this and tackling what has become a second long story for JB Appreciation week starting this Sunday. I know what the next two chapters should contain, but may be slow on getting them written, edited and posted for the next week and a half. Apologies.


	21. Marriage Possibilities and the Wall.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation about marriage possibilities and House Stark while Jaime faces a few truths about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this got so delayed. I wrote a long JB Appreciation fic last week and realized I needed to concentrate on just that to not blend the two stories since they are different takes on possible futures. Back to writing and hopefully back to updates a few times a week. Thanks for bearing with me. Next part is finally smut again when I get it finished.

Jaime wouldn't say his down mood had lifted, but he had to move past it. He had spent the last few days setting up quarters and ammunition and getting his Lannister men settled into Castle Black as well as possible. After that first night, Jaime had paid attention as Jon Snow and Lord Commander Tollett discussed strategies and added his own thoughts. The most pressing discussions had been about the undead they had encountered south of the Wall, something neither man thought has been possible. 

Tonight, they lounged before a blazing fire in the Lord Commander's chambers. Mugs of dark strong ale in hand after another sparse dinner. The night was snowless and beyond bone-chilling. Sam Tarly and Jon discussed Jon's marriage prospects of all things. Jaime hadn't heard more than rumors about Jon Snow's wildling lover, but he clearly still held feelings even after her death. Plus there was whatever he had going on with Sansa Stark. Jon kept dismissing all the southern ladies Sam suggested. Edd Tollett looked on with mild amusement. 

Jon denied another possibility and Sam shook his head. He turned to Jaime. “Do you have advice, Lord Jaime?” 

Jaime gave a half smile, because they didn't really want to hear his advice. “You want a Karstark or an Umber to solidify your power in the North. A lady not too old to have been widowed with other children but old enough to have bled to give you heirs soon.”

Jon frowned while Sam nodded. “And I shouldn't care anything else of her?” Jon asked. 

Jaime shrugged. “If this is political? No.”

“Says the man not married for politics.” Jon shook his head and drank his ale. 

“I'm not the King of the fucking North,” Jaime replied, head tilted. Although Snow had a point. Jaime should be married, he should at least be thinking what marriage might strengthen his house. 

“The bigger issue,” Sam said, as much to Jaime as Jon, “is how do you keep the Stark house alive if Jon is unwilling to name his sons Starks.”

“Besides the fact he'd need a wife and sons first.” Edd scoffed. 

Jaime sipped his ale. “Suppose Arya could have a bastard she names a Stark.” They all looked at him. “You're right, Arya liking someone enough to fuck them...” He laughed. “Sansa marries the younger son of a lesser Northern lord with the agreement their children are named Stark?” Jaime cocked his head. 

Jon shook his. “Sansa will not be marrying again for political reasons.”

“You should tell Little Finger that then.” Jaime gave a half smirk. The conversation paused for a bit, until Jaime finally said, “Bran”

“Can't.” Jon shook his head with a frown. 

“Yes, but,” Jaime continued, “Bran marries the Howland girl, they do care about each other, and you father his children.”

Jon's frown deepened and he glared at Jaime. Oh, Jaime knew what he said, he suggested Jon father children that he'd be forced to call his nephews and nieces. Jaime shrugged. “It's a thought, at the least when they ask you can both say they are of Stark blood.”

Jon shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “I couldn't though. I just... couldn't.” 

Jaime nodded. He knew what he asked Jon to do in this. He knew Jon still thought of his uncle by blood as his own father. “Well... you could marry Sansa and call your children Starks.”

Jon's already pale face grew paler. Sam cocked his head. Edd continued to sip his ale and look amused.   
Jaime thought about what he had promised Bran at the weirwood tree. Marriage had always been used by the southern houses, and surely the new Queen knew this as well. 

“The Targaryn's have married family for generations,” Jaime said. “And there are not many eligible men in Westeros for Queen Daenerys to wed.” Himself, which Jaime would not agree to. Tryion, which might be a possibility although what if he gave her dwarf children as himself. And Jon, who the Dragon Queen shared blood with “If she has yet to marry when she comes north, she will ask you to wed her.”

“She's my aunt.” Jon scowled. 

“The Targeryns wed brother and sister for generations.” Jaime shrugged. “You're the only other Targeryn in Westeros to marry, why she would ask to wed you. You're handsome enough even if gloomy. And more than anyone else in Westeros you have the possibility of giving her white haired children.” Jon might look the image of a northern lord, but he had Rhaegar's blood and thus the means to give the Dragon Queen a child with Targaryn coloring. 

Jon let out a deep sigh and took a long gulp of his beer. 

“Never really thought of it like that,” Sam Tarly said. 

“If you don't want to marry the Dragon Queen,” Jaime said, “you need to be wed to another before she comes north.”

“It does solve things,” Sam told Jon who continued to frown and shake his head. “You don't have to marry Daenerys. Sansa doesn't have to marry another she doesn't wish to. And you keep house Stark alive.” Sam nodded and gave Jaime a smile. 

Jaime swept his hand at Sam. “Exactly.”

“But, she's my sister.” Jon shook his head again. 

“Half sister.” Jaime tilted his head. “Your cousin by blood. Little Finger wishes to marry her to Robyn Aryn, also her cousin. Rickard Stark, your grandfather, was married to his cousin. My father and mother were cousins. High-born cousins marry all the time.”

Jon still scowled. Jaime wondered why the young man was being so damn stubborn about this. “Besides, not as though you aren't already fucking Sansa.”

Jon paled again. He blinked his dark eyes at Jaime in surprise. Edd cocked his head and leaned forward into the conversation. Sam looked at Jon with actual shock. 

“I may have had a conversation with Sansa,” Jaime said, “where, mind you without words, she confirmed my suspicions.”

“Sansa?” Sam blinked and shook his head. “She's pretty,” he leaned closer to tell Jon, as if the King of the fucking North didn't already have an idea. 

“That's not the point Sam,” Edd finally spoke up. 

Jaime waited, sipped his ale. He wasn't about to make Jon Snow do something he didn't want to. Both Sam and Edd now looked at Jon, even though Jaime instead watched the flames dance in the fire. 

“She's Ned Stark's daughter,” Jon finally said. 

“Fuck Ned Stark,” Jaime said, not turning away from the fire. “And fuck Catelyn too. They're dead.”

“You didn't like Ned.” Jon frowned. 

“No.” Jaime didn't sneer, because after all Ned had been Jon's father. “Ned Stark was stubbornly honorable, so much he might have let his house die if he has no sons able to keep it alive. This is not a time for honor. It's a time for what needs to be done to survive.”

With a huff Jon shoved himself out of his chair and crossed to look out a frosted window. Sam and Edd exchanged looks. 

“If Sansa has been through what I suspect.” Jaime chose his words wisely. The girl had been raped by Ramsey Snow turned Bolton, had been beat and marked and he imagined ravaged in other ways as well. “Yet still.... trusts you to.... bed her....” It meant Sansa had possibly found something with Jon she would not with another man. Why would Ned and Catelyn not wish their daughter happiness, possible love, wherever it might be found? 

The rest of Jaime's words were interrupted by rawdy singing at the door. Sandor Clegane threw open the door. In a gush of freezing air, he and Bronn stumbled in chuckling. Jaime tightened his lips and sighed. Them being chummy would not end well. 

“You're drunk,” Jaime stated. 

Bronn chuckled and smiled wide as he plopped into a chair beside Jaime. “Aye. And been well fucked too.”

Sandor chuckled at that. He sat beside Bronn and leaned forward to a table to fill up an empty mug with ale.

Bronn leaned back with a sigh. “Nothin' like having her mouth on a woman's fold, and your cock in wet cunt at th' same time.” He gave the room a big smirk. Sam swallowed and Edd's eyes widened a bit. Jon actually turned to look over his shoulder. 

“I sent you to assess the situation.” Jaime kept his voice neutral, his face hard. Tywin might have been proud. 

“Couldn't very well do that without samplin' the wares.” Bronn turned his head drunkenly to Jaime and shrugged his eyes at Jaime. Bronn looked over at Sam and Edd to add, “Same time had me hand on a third's tits, while--” 

Jaime glared at Bronn and the sellsword paused his retelling of the story. 

“Just 'cause you ain't ever had an orgy Jaime fucking Lannister.” Bronn pointed his finger at Jaime. A blush almost came to Jaime's cheeks at his lack of experience, half a god or not.

“Assess what?” Sam cocked his head. 

“Whores at Mole's Town.” Sandor drunk down his ale. 

“Why?” Sam's brow furrowed. 

Jaime glanced at Sam, then turned back to Bronn. “Besides fuck half the whores in Mole's Town, what did you find out?”

“Well, they ain't...” Bronn frowned.

“They're ugly.” Sandor stated. 

“And the few that aren't are wildlings,” Bronn finished. He pinched his face half up and reached for the ale Sandor handed him. 

Jaime frowned. Wildling whores seemed a good way for a disagreement or misunderstanding to end with someone's death. 

“I mean a wet cunt's a wet cunt, but...” Bronn shrugged his shoulder and face to match. 

Jaime let out a sigh. “That bad?”

“Coulda fucking told ya.” Sandor reached to refill his mug. 

“Spending your coin t' see in person was more entertainin' though,” Bronn told Jaime before he and Sandor shared a chuckle. 

“Your gold coulda bought the whole fucking place.” Sandor added with a sneer. 

“Few even I wouldn't touch though.” Bronn tossed back the pouch of gold Jaime had given him, still clanking with a few coins. That said something, as Jaime had yet to know the sellsword to be picky about his women.

“Why do Mole's Town's whores matter though?” Sam asked. 

All eyes turned to Jaime. “My men aren't celibate, and men have needs.” Not that he had ever taken to whores, and he had gone moons before without such touch of a woman. But, men in general he knew were often a different thing. “Of the many things an army needs, whores are one of them.”

“Or laundry women who do the same,” Bronn added with a smirk. 

Sam tilted his head and furrowed his brow as if just thinking this through. Edd nodded with understanding. Jon frowned but didn't seem to be disagreeing. 

“How many do you think?” Jaime asked Bronn. 

“Exceptin' the few camp followers came with us from Winterfell,” the sellsword said with a shrug, “I'd say a dozen. Wouldn't have to be the prettiest either.”

Jaime nodded. Which would make it easier to find women willing to travel from further south up to the wall. A plain or older whore in Lannisport would be a prize here in Mole's Town it seemed. “Next shipment to Castle Black we'll send a few along from Winterfell, than more from Lannisport when ships next come from the south.” 

Jon turned his face into disgust. Sam cocked his head in interest. “You're going to bring women from the south all the way here to... service your men?” Sam asked. 

Edd sighed. “Hard enough to keep my men out of Mole's Town now.”

“We can find a pretty one for you, if'n you want.” Bronn shrugged his face and took a deep sip of ale. 

Tollett's face hardened, his lips tight at the offer. Oh, he wasn't a completely celibate man, Jaime reasoned, but the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was at least discrete about his visits to Mole's Town. 

Bronn shrugged his shoulder at Edd's dismissal. “I miss interestin' conversation while I was away?” 

“Talk about marriage and houses.” Jaime sipped his ale and glanced at Jon still standing near the window. 

Bronn gave a chuckle. “Well, as the married man in the room, 't ain't all bad.”

Sam frowned. “You have a wife? But... you were just down in Mole's Town...”

“Fucking half the whores there.” Sandor chuckled and waved his mug of ale. Bronn clanked his mug with Sandor's, a leer on his lips. 

“My cousin's heavy with child these days?” Jaime gave the sellsword a look. 

Bronn shrugged and sipped his ale. “Last I heard, a moon or so from her birthing bed.” Bronn leaned back in his chair his face actually thoughtful. Bronn didn't read, but the maester at Winterfell read and relayed every raven Bronn's wife sent north. 

“Hopefully it's a boy and she'll name it something decent,” Bronn said. Jaime looked over at the aging sellsword as the man looked into the flames of the fire. He should send Bronn south with the next ships, let him hold his babe at least, and hope the sellsword had enough duty to travel back north. Picking out whores would be a good task to give the man to do, and perhaps Jaime's cousin would be thankful enough to have her husband back for a time to not complain about why Jaime had sent him. 

“Imagine it's scary for a woman,” Sam said, “the first time she births a child.”

“Not her first,” Bronn said. 

“She has a bastard,” Jaime said. Why he had set his cousin, second removed on his mother's side and third on his father's, with Bronn. She'd been older and as yet unmarried because of the blemish the rumor of her bastard had caused, even if the family denied there was one. 

“Who I've claimed as mine.” Bronn took a big gulp of his ale. “Boy of six, Allem.”

“Why would you go claiming her fucking bastard? And a Lannister.” Sandor shook his head and looked over at Bronn. 

“Fuckin' was good.” Bronn shrugged. “And she looked at me with that pretty sad face when she talked about him.” Bronn drank more ale and sighed. Sandor scoffed at him. Jaime had reasoned rightly so Bronn wasn't going to care she'd had a bastard, but it had surprised him the sellsword had a soft enough place for his cousin to claim her bastard. 

“You claimed the boy so your wife could have her son back.” Sam gave a half smile. “That's very noble of you Ser Bronn.” 

The sellsword rolled his eyes and Sandor smirked at him. “A bastard Hill ain't gonna ruin my reputation,” Bronn said. “Sure I got a dozen around the seven kingdoms and beyond.” He tipped back his mug to finish off the last of his ale. “I'm drunk, and we got a mess t' do on the morrow to be leaving.” Bronn shoved himself to his feet. 

They were leaving in two days time, and there was much to do before they headed back south. Jaime rose himself. He bowed to the room. “Thank you for the ale, the fire and conversation.” They all gave slight nods of their heads as Jaime left with Bronn. 

Back outside in the chill they walked to the Lannister rooms. A mood had actually fallen over Bronn, something that never really happened. Jaime told the sellsword he'd be sending him down south in person for more men, supplies and the whores. 

Bronn raised an eyebrow at him. “Why me?” 

Jaime shrugged. “Man should hold his babe at least once.” 

They paused outside Jaime's room. Bronn cocked his head and sized up Jaime. “Did you ever hold your children?” 

They were never mine, Jaime left unspoken. It was the first time Bronn had actually voiced Cersei's children as his, even if it had been unspoken between them since traveling to Dorne for Myrcella. 

Jaime frowned. “I held Joffrey briefly.” He still remembered it, the three of them alone, Cersei exhausted and asleep on her bed, the tiny bundle with his face in his arms. He's unswaddled the babe completely, amazed he'd had a part in creating the tiny perfect being. Years later, Jaime would curse that day, because Joffrey could be a worse monster than King Aerys, and Jaime knew he'd never be able to kill the man he'd held once held and loved as a perfect babe. 

Cersei had made sure with the next two to not leave him alone with the babes. He still remembered only being able to touch their fine hair, their soft cheeks, to let a tiny fist wrap around a finger. He remembered his jealousy as Robert and even Tyrion held what he knew would be the slight, warm weight of the children he had given his sister. 

Jaime came back to Bronn's frowning face. He wondered what expression must be on his own face. Bronn said nothing, just gave his head a bow and walked on to his own room. 

#

Chill wind bit into his cheeks as Jaime stood atop the Wall and looked north. The sun set purple and orange over the frozen land. The dying light glittered off the ice of the Wall. Ragged mountains and thick pine forest all covered in feet of snow and ice. They left to return to Winterfell on the morrow. Jaime didn't want weeks of travel back through snow and cold, but he ached to get back to Brienne. 

He'd been atop the Wall a few other times, surveying the armaments, catapults and where archers would fire from. The stretch by Castle Black was fortified enough, but the rest was left unguarded. Because of the white walker and wights they have encountered Tollett and Jon Snow wanted to start sending parties to walk the Wall, searching for cracks or breaks. Perhaps there were some, perhaps something build thousands of years ago was just not meant to stand forever, magic or not.

Footfall echoed and Jaime looked up to see Tormund approach and lean on the opposite wall of the planked opening looking back east, while Jaime watched the sunset to the west. 

“Good visit?” Jaime asked. 

“Aye.” Tormund nodded with a smile. “Always good to see family and especially my daughters.”

Jaime gave a nod, although he had little family anymore. He shrugged a little deeper into his thick fur cloak. Even with woolen underlayers the cold bit through to the flesh up here. “Don't think I'm ever getting warm again.”

Tormund laughed. Frost formed in his red beard, wind whipped his long hair and furs. The wildling seemed not to notice or care. 

“When I returned from the Riverlands without my sword hand,” Jaime said, “my father wanted me to quit the Kingsguard. If I didn't have a hand to fight for him, I at least still had a cock to give him grand heirs. I told him no, that I didn't want a wife or children.” Tormund smiled across at him. “So,” Jaime continued, “he asked what I wanted, as if he would find whatever I desired.”

“What'd you ask for?” Tormund cocked his head. 

“Summer.” Jaime let out a sigh. “What I wanted was my youth back. But what I wouldn't give now for one day of summer. To swim in the warm summer waters of the Sunset Sea, to lay naked and golden on a glimmering sand beach.” Jaime watched as the last of the sun dipped below the Frost Fang mountains. “I'll be an old man when summer comes again, with grayed hair, wrinkles, more sinew than muscle.”

“Maybe you'll get fat instead.” Tormund chuckled. 

“I could take you there, to Casterly Rock and the Sunset Sea, when spring comes.” Jaime smiled at him. He could take Brienne too, show her the tunnels he and Cersei explored as children, where his grandfather Tytos kept the last of their real lions. 

“I'd likely melt.” Tormund shook his head and looked at the twilight settling in the north. 

“You wouldn't melt, just sweat.” Jaime laughed. “So much you'd end up wearing next to nothing like the Dornish.” He pictured the big wildling bare chested with thin linen pants and still sweating in a spring heat. 

Jaime hooked his right arm firmly around a thick wooden post and leaned his head to look down from the Wall. Icy wind gushed up to met him. “When I was a boy, I used to climb the cliffs and jump to the ocean below higher up than this. I knew I could, so I did.”

Tormund laughed. Without bracing he glanced down at the frozen ground below and then back to Jaime. “I've climbed the Wall more times than I could count.” 

Jaime looked down again at the icy surface below and imagined being able to do that feat, even in his strength of youth with two hands. 

“Heard about your sister,” Tormund said. 

Jaime waited for an apology, and realized the wildling couldn't quite manage to say one. He puffed out a sigh that blew away in the cold wind. Cersei never loved him, and sometimes he wondered himself how much he truly had loved her. 

“Sometimes I think it was all a lingering memory of summer sun on a warm beach,” Jaime said. Silly shared kisses of youth that never should have been more. “I clung to that illusion for most of my life.” Long past when he should have moved on, should have seen Cersei and them for the truth of what they were. Those memories had been his salvation in the Mad King's court, and had been hard to give up faith in. 

“You're not so old,” Tormund said. “You can still marry a woman you love, have other children.”

“You mean with the stubborn woman who wishes to have neither marriage or children.” Jaime tightened his lips and gave his head a slight shake. They stood across from each other, cold wind whipping between them. “I'm sorry if you got... hurt getting caught in the middle.”

Tormund waved a hand of dismissal. “Not your doing. And Jon Snow warned me that lion sword of hers meant something.” He sighed. “You hurt Brienne though, I'll fucking gut ya.” Tormund's face was a tight grimace and Jaime knew the wildling would do just that. Jaime did have shit for honor and a reputation of a sister-fucker, what was not to be wary about? 

“If I hurt Brienne, Tormund...” Jaime pinched his lips together. His chest ached. When had Brienne become more dear to him than all his family once was? If he hurt her it'd tear him apart, because she was the only right thing it felt his life presently had. He couldn't live without that. “I'll likely be glad that you do,” he finished softly. 

Tormund's eyes softened a bit. “Should get in from the cold 'fore you freeze southron lord.”

Jaime shook his head and turned back to the north. “I have a Wall to piss off. He's my baby brother, I really can't be outdone by the man,” Jaime said over his shoulder. Tormund laughed. “Want to join me?” Jaime paused his hand on his laces. 

“I've pissed on the Wall,” Tormund said, “never off it.” He shrugged and reached down to undo his own pants. “'Sides, Brienne'd kill me if you accidentally fell.” 

Jaime chuckled as he wrapped his right arm again around a post to brace himself. Managing his laces were always bad enough one-handed, one-handed and gloved was worse. They didn't look at each other, but first Tormund and then Jaime let loose streams of piss that arched out to the empty space beyond the Wall. 

Tormund chuckled and Jaime found himself following. He felt like a boy, like the boy who would jump from the cliffs of Casterly Rock. He remembered that thrill of the sharp wind gushing around him, the hard slap of the water taking his breath away. Jaime wore a silly grin as he stepped back from the edge, tucked his cock away from the chill wind and leaned against the icy side wall. He fumbled to re-tie his laces as Tormund looked on head tilted. 

“Fuck, that was cold.” Jaime shook his head. 

Tormund threw back his head and laughed. “Are there other southron lord like you, Jaime Lannister?”

“There aren't other men like me,” Jaime said shaking his head, “only me.” He remembered saying those words to dear Catelyn many years before. “Only me,” he whispered again into the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on Jon's possible marriage prospects is partly opinion and partly what fits into this story. Sandor and Bronn talk too much, especially when together, and chuckle lots it would seem. Hopefully talk about whores being needed for armies is not too over the top.


	22. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime finally both return to Winterfell both surprised by how much they've missed each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised smut, much smut. Plot to return in the next chapter.

They did not meet any more wights on the rest of their travels to and from Bear Island. At the coast Brienne had left Lady Lyanna on a departing ship to Bear Island. She did promise to travel there sometime. Unlike Tarth, the ocean here looked cold and angry, Bear Island a chilly haven from it. Brienne however wished to hurry back to Winterfell and to Jaime. 

The travel back to Winterfell was uneventful if increasing cold. The sun had started to show itself less and less, sometimes giving only a wane light to the surroundings. Most of the men were too young to worry much about the decreasing light, about it heralding the “Long Night” the wildlings and King Jon were always on about. 

The light was failing for the day even thought Brienne judged it only hours after noon when she and her small party made it back to the safety and warmth of Winterfell. The keep had been a welcome sight on the snowy hills around it. 

She had barely dismounted, thanked the men for their work and handed the reins of her horse off to a stable boy when Jaime appeared. He was as stunning as always, thin beard trimmed, snowflakes in his dark golden hair, his black and red cloak slung around his black jerkin. 

“Podrick,” he said as he strolled towards them, “make sure the horses are cared for and your lady's things are taken to her room.” He didn't take his bright eyes from Brienne. 

Pod stumbled for a bit and then nodded. “Yes, m'lord.” He gave a last glance between them, before Brienne shooed him on to the task. 

Jaime didn't speak. He took her arm and walked her further into the stables, towards a back room. He shoved open the door with his gold hand and barred the door behind them. 

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “Jaime?”

He didn't reply just stepped up to her and kissed her, rough and desperate. Brienne found her arms wrapping around him, her tongue dueling with his. 

“Gods, I missed you woman.” He broke away to kiss her cheek and down her neck. His hand unfastened her sword belt. “I'd like to do this in one of our rooms.” His breath puffed warm against her chilled good cheek. Oathkeeper clanked to the ground. His hand loosened the straps of her armor. “I'd like to feel my naked skin against yours, but I need you Brienne, now.”

By the Seven his husky voice saying such loosen something in her she hadn't realized she'd been holding tight all those many weeks away. She joined his hand in taking off her armor. “I still have the dirt of travel on me,” she said between kisses. “I could use a bath.” She hadn't had one since leaving Winterfell weeks ago and even in the cold she knew a stink had grown on her. 

Jaime chuckled as he dropped pieces of her plate armor at their feet. “And I'd love to help you wash all that grime off, my lady, after I fuck you here and now.” He pulled back a bit. “Unless you really would rather bathe first.” His hip dug into hers and she could feel the evidence of how much he wanted her. She would like to be proper about this, but seven hells she could feel the dampness growing between her legs, she wanted him just as much. 

With haste they removed her breast plate, gorget about her neck and shoulder pauldrons. Her hand untied the laces of his pants and ran along his hard cock. Jaime pushed her a few steps until her back hit the wall behind. His fingers fumbled with her laces, while a growl escaped his lips. Brienne finished for him. He lifted her left leg and with curses to her armor tore off her greave and tugged off her left boot. 

His gold hand lifted her leg over his hip and his cock rubbed at the apex of her thighs. Brienne freed her leg from her one pant leg, the stable air chill against her skin. She didn't have time to think about such before Jaime pushed her small clothing out of the way enough to expose her folds, to slid his cock into her. 

Brienne gasp as he suddenly filled her, and wondered at how ready she had been for him. His head buried in her neck. His hips set a furious pace. His thrusts banged them against the wooden wall Brienne braced against. She wrapped her leg tighter around him and used it to meet his hips with her own thrusts. 

She was already so close, more in need of him than she had thought possible. She bit her lower lip and tried to swallow down the moans that threatened to spill from her lips. Jaime panted and mumbled her names and words of adoration into her neck. His hand gripped her ass hard enough she could feel his nails through the thick wool. One of her hands braced against his shoulder. The other hand slid down her body and rubbed at her nub in front of their joining. 

She felt him swell in her and his pace sped up further. Brienne felt herself clench tight around his cock. Her pleasure rose inside her, a warming need from her gut and nethers. Then, she tumbled over the edge of her pleasure, a high-pitched scream of his name on her lips. Jaime screamed himself as his teeth dug into the shoulder of her plated jerkin and he spilled within her. 

The chillness of the air on her bare leg sent a shiver through her. Their breaths puffed around them. Jaime tried to drape his cloak over her bare leg and she reached out to hold it there. 

“That was...” Brienne was not sure what word she wanted. She had not realized how much her body had missed his. She had also not ever really thought they could fit together as they had, much less so well. 

“It would have been much easier without the armor.” Jaime chuckled. “Should we get you re-armored, only to get you to your room, ready a bath and take it all off again?” 

“Do we not have duties tonight?” Brienne cocked her head. She tugged her pants back on and fastened them. 

“Duties?” Jaime scoffed and shook his head while he fastened his own laces. Brienne put her boot and calf greave back on while Jaime fumbled with the rest of her armor. “I don't mean to be doing anything until daylight besides fuck you.”

Brienne actually laughed at that, although she saw from his eyes he meant it. 

#

Jaime lounged in a chair and watched Brienne wipe down each piece of her armor to remove the moisture of the snow. Servants readied a bath for her. Her cheeks that had been rosy from the cold on her return were their normal pale color again, the right one still marred with the thick scar from the wolf. When he'd returned a few days ago from the north, he'd been almost furious to find Brienne was gone, off to the northwest to aid Lady Lyanna Mormont. 

He answered Brienne's questions about the Wall and his travels. She did the same with his about why she had been gone. 

“We came upon wights,” she finally said, her voice low and possibly scared. “Only a few days ride northwest of Winterfell.”

Jaime frowned. “We meet them as well, much farther north, with a white walker.” The stuff of nightmares, especially as he no longer held the skill to fight and kill one, even if he had had a valyrian sword to wield. “It's thought that the Wall's magic keeps such things from coming south.”

Brienne turned to him and tilted her head. He'd left unspoken that if such was correct that magic or the wall itself was failing. “I imagine there will be much discussion of this on the morrow.”

Jaime chuckled and shrugged. “Imagine for several days after as well.”

The servants finished with the bath and Brienne spoke kind thanks to them as they bowed and m'lady'ed and finally left. Brienne began to undress, then her fingers paused. “I heard about Cersei... I'm... sorry, Jaime.”

He sat forward in the chair and sighed. “Oddly it has bothered me less than I had thought it might.” He frowned. The lost of his children and what he had not been allowed to have with them most days left a bigger ache than the lost of his dead sister, his past lover. Cersei always said she and him were two halves of a whole, yet here Jaime sat feeling rather a whole man. 

Jaime shook his head and rose to cross to Brienne. He should have had words, but just as when he'd first seen her in the stables, they failed him. Instead he began untieing her clothing, removing it from her body. 

Brienne lowered herself into the steaming water and actually sighed. He'd felt the same when he'd finally gotten back to Winterfell and able to properly bathe again. Odd how such quickly became a luxury. He took a rag and began to clean the grime off her shoulders and arms, which sent a chuckle through her. Smiling and content, this was the Brienne he wished he could spend the rest of his life with. 

Her fingers unfastened his jerkin and removed it, followed by his woolen tunic, undertunic and gold hand. Jaime laughed himself as he sat bare chested beside her bath. “Only fair,” she mumbled. 

He gave her a quick peck on the lips and went back to bathing her. The rag and his hand seeking out every indention that might have gathered dirt and returning it to clean skin. Brienne herself washed her fair hair.

“This is rather slow for the fucking you said we'd be doing.” Brienne tilted her head, a smile upon her thick lips. 

Jaime gave a half frown. “I already gave you the fast fuck.” He dipped to her ear. “Which you enjoyed I'd take by the screaming you did.” She chuckled and turned to kiss him. 

His hand slid down her slickly wet shoulder and cupped a breast. “Tell me we're never going to be parted again, Brienne.” His heart already ached at the thought of such. 

He lowered his head and wrapped his tongue and mouth around her uncovered nipple. She arched her back and one hand held him against her breast. Jaime moved to lave the other nipple. His hand slid beneath the water and parted the folds between her legs. Brienne let out a mournful moan. 

“I can't promise you that, Jaime,” she whispered. 

Jaime lifted his head to her stunning eyes, her honest face. He nodded. “I know,” he whispered back. Only worse was to come and there were no promises duty would not again have them part, there was no promise either of them would even make it to spring. 

Brienne frowned slightly as she stood. Water dribbled off of her as it had once in the Harrenhal baths. Her body now more scarred and battle tested, the confidence she'd shone then now weakened by their feelings. Jaime brought her a towel to dry with. Then he backed away to the bed and let her watch him. He tugged off his boots, then unlaced his pants and underclothing and let both slide down his legs to the floor. His cock arched hard and needing between his legs. 

Brienne tilted her head and crossed to him. “By the Seven, I have missed you too, Jaime.” She dipped her head and captured his mouth in a kiss, nothing teasing or soft as they had been so far tonight. This kiss possessed him and showed him her need and lust. 

What followed was some of the best sex Jaime had ever had. Brienne straddled him and rode him until they both panted and arched into each other. Before they reached their peak, Jaime flipped them over and stilled their movements while they both regained control of their passion. Then he fucked her with deep thrusts, Brienne's impossibly long legs wrapped around his hips. 

“Not yet, Jaime,” she whispered, and stopped them before their peak. 

Jaime pushed off to kneel before her on the bed. Sweat dribbled down his chest, his cock hard and aching. Brienne lay there, just as wrecked, her legs spread wide before him. He tugged her up to him and turned her until she rested on all fours before him. Her brow furrowed as she looked over her shoulder at him. Jaime couldn't resist running a hand over her strong legs and back, her soft ass. He might have mumbled what a wonderful view it was. Then, he pushed her upper body down to the bed with his stump and pulled her hips to his. With one thrust he entered her again. Here in their joining, so connected to Brienne, this made him feel whole and complete. 

“There, Jaime, there.” Brienne moaned. 

Jaime smirked at he thrust again at the same place inside her. With his one hand and stump he tried to steady her hips as he pounded into her. Brienne writhed and moaned before him. She clenched tight around his cock and gods he was close. 

Then, Brienne surged backwards and it knocked him off balance. She settled with her back against his chest. Her legs straddled his hips, their bodies still joined. She was bigger than him, even more so in this position. It left his face in the hollow between her shoulder blades, his leaned up to nose the short hairs at the nape of her neck. 

Brienne began to rock her hips against him, and then raise and lower herself upon his cock. Jaime gripped her tight around the waist with his stump. His hips thrust up into her. Their bodies slipped sweaty against each other. He struggled to hold off his release, to cherish being so connected to this large, strong woman for just a few moments longer. His hand slipped to her nub. He stroked it as she stroked his cock within her. 

Jaime mumbled her name and endearments into the nape of her neck. She moaned and shivered in his strong grip. “Gods, I love you, Brienne,” he whispered against her rosy, flushed skin. 

Their movements grew frantic, hips clashing. The bed groaned. A scream ripped from Brienne's chest. Jaime growled. She clenched and spasmed around his cock. Jaime held her still as he emptied himself deep inside her. 

They collapsed together upon the bed, sated, exhausted. Sweaty and tired limbs intertwined. Jaime managed a smile as Brienne gave him a soft kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, damn taking off enough armor for that stable scene took some thinking. Second, is has become a theme for Briene's POV sex scenes to be the ones where they're clothed or partly clothed. I think I might continue this with the other sex scenes I have thought out for this work. Mainly based on discussion at Jaime & Brienne Online about how Jaime would prefer naked sex with Brienne after much of his sexual encounters with Cersei were likely clothed.


	23. Talk of Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion about how the Wall holds, or doesn't, while Jaime and Brienne assess where they both want to go from here, or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay. Been in a RL funk that extended to writing. Finally got the words needed to post this.

“If the Others are south of the Wall, all the way to the Wolfswood.” Jon Snow shook his head and frowned. The King in the North hadn't been too pleased by Brienne's report of having encountered wights only days from Winterfell. 

“I thought there was magic in the Wall to prevent that.” Davos tilted his head. 

“Aye.” Tormund nodded. “That's what legend says. The undead can't cross the Wall.” 

They stood in Snow's solar around his council table: Snow, Davos, Tormund, Sansa, Brienne, Jaime and Bronn, as well as Lord Baelish who for some reason was back in Winterfell from the Vale. 

“So either there's a crack in the Wall,” Jaime said, “or the magic is failing.” If if was more than that they would be awash with undead. Sometime he should ask Tormund how many wildlings he estimated to have lived beyond the Wall before the undead. 

“Neither sounds good.” Davos frowned. 

“Is there a way to check the Wall for a crack?” Brienne tilted her head and looked at the long trail of Wall drawn across the map spread on the council table. 

She stood beside Jaime in her plated jerkin, back straight and face perhaps purposely not even glancing at him. Jaime spared her a casual glance and resisted the urge to rub his shoulder against hers. They'd woken naked in each others arms and he had missed that warmth, something he never knew he had needed before. He tried not to remember making love to her in the darkness that morning now held, their bodies moving in what was becoming a familiar dance. 

Snow sighed. “The Night's Watch can do that.”

Jaime scoffed, which drew Snow's attention. “How many builders does the Night's Watch have these days? They don't have the men for this.” He cocked his head and dared Jon to say otherwise. 

“The Free Folk at the Gift can walk the east half of the Wall,” Tormund said. 

“That leaves the west t' us.” Bronn leaned on the table. “We should be able to manage that, right?”

Nods were given around the room. 

“We should move the army North to Castle Black.” Jon Snow pointed to the map. “That's where this fight will be.”

Jaime shook his head. “And what if the Wall falls? What if they come through the Wall elsewhere?”

Bronn nodded. “True. We move the army there, that ain't where I'd attack the Wall.”

Snow frowned. Tormund gave a sigh. “Castle Black is not well defended from the south.” He meet eyes with Snow. Jaime had heard in the battle for Castle Black against Mance Rayder a small group of wildlings had almost taken the castle from the south. 

“Winterfell might be the more defensible position.” Jaime tapped it on the map. 

“The Bolton's did repair it for a siege.” Davos nodded. 

“It's larger and has natural heat,” Jaime added. 

“But not very good supply lines.” Brienne tightened her lips. “Especially if we assume it will be surrounded.”

“We stock up everything we can until then.” Davos nodded with a frown. 

“We can double up supplies coming from Lannisport,” Jaime said. 

Baelish cocked his head, clearly upset at the Lannisters providing such aid, or perhaps at the Starks not being completely dependent on him. “I can do the same with supplies coming from the Vale. However, such will only stretch so far.” His words were liquid and chilled. “Especially if you mean to give those in the countryside haven within Winterfell.”

“It will be the only way to make sure that they live.” Sansa frowned and gave Baelish beside her a glance. 

“Winter's gonna be long and hard no matter what we do.” Tormund's voice boomed. “The darkness is already comin'.”

“So when the grain and goats and even fallen horses fail us...,” Jaime said with a shrug. “We have certainly all heard the stories of harsh winters in the North.” A starving man would eat just about anything something Jaime sadly had some experience with. Thus, he assumed the tales were true that when all that was left of the dead were humans, a man would eat such and just be glad for tomorrow. Frowns echoed around the room and Jaime tried not to bring the same to his face. 

“Of course you would think such an unscrupulous thing acceptable, Kingslayer.” Baelish frowned and shook his head, all an act. 

Jaime gave a tight smile, one of those fake southern things reserved for King's Landing. “Of course, Littlefinger, because I'm the monster.” Not you, Jaime wanted to add but purposely did not. 

“If it comes to that we will do what it takes to survive.” Brienne tightened her lips and tilted her head at Baelish. He spared her a glance and one of his thin, fake smiles. “What else can we do?”

“Back to the matter of the Others south of the Wall.” Jon Snow's voice was commanding enough to draw all their attention to him. Perhaps the boy was learning. “We form up forces to go north and scout the western portions of the Wall.”

“Just when we got in from the cold.” Jaime scowled. Although, he didn't mean to send his men back out into such weather without himself.

Bronn smirked beside him and Jon frowned. “Meanin' o' course we'll go readying the troops for more cold,” Bronn said. 

#

Brienne sat astride Jaime, both of them bare and on the bed in her quarters. She planted her hands on his chest and levered herself up and down on his cock. Jaime looked up to her with such admiration that it spurred her movements faster. Jaime's nails dug into her hip while his stump struggled to pull her closer. 

Then, she was rolled over, Jaime now atop her. She wrapped her legs around his back. Jaime thrust frantically into her. Brienne's hips meet him thrust for thrust. His head dipped to her neck where he mumbled her name at her ear. Brienne didn't care about the moans she gave, about the bed creaking beneath them. It was her hand that snaked between them to rub at her nub. 

“Oh, gods, Brienne, yes,” Jaime moaned. Brienne screamed her release. Jaime stilled above her. A growled escaped him as he pulled out and spilled himself. He collapsed atop her, his seed trapped between their bellies. 

Brienne cocked her head when Jaime finally rolled off and crossed to the wash basin. He returned with a rag and cleaned them both up. 'Why?' she wanted to ask but the words did not escape her lips. 

Jaime tilted his head as he sat back on the bed. “What? Do you wish I get my child on you?” 

Brienne tightened her lips. She sat up and pulled the blanket to cover her bare chest. “We both know what a risk such would be.” She might need an heir, but she would have to bare a child for such, would have to grow heavy and vulnerable with it, would have to risk her life to birth it. “Thus, the moon tea,” she added to his silence. 

“Not a guarantee.” He sighed. Brienne frowned. She wanted to bite back with witty words, rant about it, but words did not come. Jaime shifted closer. “I don't have to give you my child to give you vows,” he whispered. His face was open and serious. 

Brienne shook her head. “We love each other, and we're together, given what the future might hold why does anything else matter?”

Jaime frowned. “Because I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife. Someday I want to raise children with you.” 

Brienne stared at him, Jaime the hopeless romantic. When she was younger she would have given anything for a man to say such to her and to have meant it with all their heart as Jaime did. Did he really want a large, ugly warrior wife in armor? “Have you not spent most of your life in a relationship without vows?” the words were out of her mouth before she realized. 

Jaime scowled at her. “I gave Cersei vows.” He left it unsaid, but Brienne realized he would have married Cersei if he could have. Perhaps in a way he had always thought himself married to Cersei with or without a sept and septon.

Brienne frowned and shook her head. “You wish us to just say vows to each other? What here and now?” She wanted to ask how such would matter, would make them any more than they were right now?

Jaime shifted even closer. He rested himself on his stump next to her hip. “Would you really do that? Give me vows, even if in private?” He cocked his head and looked directly at her. “Father, Smith, Warrior....,” Jaime said. Brienne's heart began to race, her breathing increased. Her eyes widened. “I am hers and she is mine...” Jaime's voice stilled. 

Brienne knew she must look a sight, frightened of silly words, words that should have no weight out of a sept anyway. She felt her chin quiver and tears gather in her eyes. Jaime gave a small frown. He finally looked away and let out a shaky breath. “I don't give a fuck what people think of us,” he said in a low steady voice. 

Still looking away he continued, “I don't care that you would stand taller than me before the septon. I don't care that you're stronger. I don't care you prefer armor to dresses.” He looked back at her. “I don't care about you not being what people find beautiful, or that you have scars.” His hand raised to her neck and then her ruined cheek. “I don't care you might be rubbish at court politics. I don't even care that you might not want to bare my children.” 

Brienne sat, stunned, silent, not sure what to think of any of this. 

Jaime leaned in closer, their noses almost touching. “I don't give a fuck about any of that,” he whispered. “And you shouldn't give a fuck for me.”

With a last sigh, Jaime leaned back and then stood up. He tugged back on his underclothing and then pants while frowning down at his laces. He didn't turn to her as he shrugged back into his undertunic. 

Brienne finally spurred herself out of her immobility. “What are you doing, Jaime?”

He looked down at his fingers trying to fasten back up his jerkin. “People already talk about us. No reason to give them more fodder.”

She rose then, the blanket falling and puddling at her feet. She stepped over it as she walked to stand before Jaime naked, her pale flesh pimpling in the chill of the room. A shiver ran up her spine. She couldn't lose him, not after she finally had him. 

“Please, Jaime, don't be mad at me.” Her voice a whisper. 

Jaime finally raised his eyes to her. His were sad, tired. He shook his head and half his mouth tugged into a quick-lived smile. “I'm not, Brienne.”

Then why was he pushing her for marriage, why was he leaving now? She frowned. Jaime reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She wanted to beg him to stay, to unclothe himself and sleep the night beside her as he had last night. But, Jaime was right they were not man and wife. They had no rights to be laying as such. 

“I just need time,” she finally managed to say. 

He gave a frown and tilted his head. “Is that all?” 

Brienne shook her head and furrowed her brow. “I don't know.”

Jaime let out a long sigh. His hand trailed down her shoulder and arm, gripped her hand. Brienne shivered, at the cold, at the power of his gaze. “Then, it's yours.” Time he meant. She wondered what would happen if even given time she felt the same, that she would never make a good wife to him, that she could not give up this life for even him? But, they mentioned none of this. 

Then Jaime reached out the stump of his right arm buried in the sleeve of his jerkin and tugged her into his embrace. He leaned up and buried his face in her neck. Brienne found herself resting her head upon his shoulder. The leather of his clothing was rough against her bare skin. Her hands gripped his shoulders. They remained like that for longer than Brienne could say, breathing in and out, wrapped in each others arms, perhaps agreeing for now to disagree. 

Finally the chill got to her and Brienne pulled away. She dipped to pick up the blanket and cover herself with it. Jaime helped her settle it on her shoulders. She watched as he replaced his sword belt and stepped forward to help him refasten his gold hand. 

“I'll see you on the morrow, Brienne.” He gave a slight smile. 

“I love you, Jaime,” she whispered despite a dry throat. 

He leaned forward and up and gave her a kiss, soft and lingering. “I love you, too, Brienne,” he said, even if his lips turned down into a frown. Then, he was gone. Brienne pulled back on warmer clothes and snuffed out the candles. She buried herself back in the blankets on her bed. Any warmth it had held from their joining had been stolen by the cold. Brienne lay looking at the ceiling and knowing it would be a time before sleep took her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping Jaime's conversation did not just come out of right field. And OMG even when they fight I can't make them leave a room really mad at each other.


	24. Little Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime talks with Gendry who Arya's brought to Winterfell, and learns an interesting secret about Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidetrack from J/B because what's the point of writing your own general slanted fanfic if you can't write all those interesting conversations between characters that may never happen in the show.

Jaime sat in the courtyard of Winterfell. His sword lay upon his knees and he moved a wetting stone down its length to sharpen it. Brienne and Tormund practiced with some of the greener troops. He had a few moments before he went back to making lists of what men stayed here, which went with them on their survey, who commanded who, what supplies would be needed. Lists, armor to check, supplies to ready, all those details to put in place that Tormund would think silly, yet Jaime knew they were what made his army good. 

“I could do that for you, ser.” The deep voice held a lot of the poorer parts of King's Landing in it. 

Jaime glanced over to the man standing beside him just outside of the blacksmith's quarters. Tall and broad, he wore only a light tunic hiding little of the thick muscles beneath. Steam rose from his shoulders and thick raven black curls. The blacksmith had laid down his tools, and he gestured with a hand to the spinning wheel in the shop, which would sharpen a sword in little time, true. 

Gendry Waters, Jaime had heard tell of the young man who Arya had brought back with her from the south. Jaime thought it better left unasked what Arya might have been doing in the south. Gendry tilted his head and looked down at Jaime with piercing, pale blue eyes. 

“You're Robert's bastard,” Jaime said. “You certainly look it.” Gendry did, strong and broad like the Robert Baratheon who had wed his sister more than two decades past. 

“I hear, and I've been called the former, yes.” Gendry cocked his head. 

Jaime gave a half smile and gestured to the bench beside him. Gendry perched on it. “Was your mother a tavern wench or a whore?” Jaime asked. Robert fucked others for sure, but most fell under one or the other of those. This boy was older than his own children, made perhaps just after Robert's Rebellion. 

“A tavern wench, m'lord.” The words were spoken quick and with no bitterness, the words of a commoner answering a highborn. “And you're the Kingslayer,” Gendry said. Then he eyed Jaime and that familiar fear came into his eyes, thinking perhaps it not wise to sit beside such a man and named him such. 

Jaime smirked. “So people call me.” His sword pointed away from Gendry and Jaime ran his wetting stone slow and smooth along the blade. Gendry watched him for a stroke and then turned to the practicing before them. 

“You fight yourself?” Jaime asked. 

Gendry shrugged. “I'm not bad.” And he wouldn't have to be very skilled to be strong enough to make a decent fighter. “But I'm better use in the forge.” He pointed back to the blacksmith's quarters. 

Jaime went back to sharpening his sword. Brienne was schooling more than a few men out on the practice yard. It sloshed with mud in the limited warmth of the little light they'd get today. Tiny snowflakes drifted in the wind and it helped to warm the air. When had this place so corrupted his thinking to feel flakes upon his head as warmth?

“You served King Robert?” Gendry had turned to Jaime, pale eyes studying him. 

Jaime shrugged. “I guarded him, yes.” 

“He was a drunk?” Gendry cocked his head. 

Jaime scrunched up his face. “Robert loved little more than drinking wine, fucking whores and killing boars. He did nothing in life by small measure.” Jaime studied the young man beside him. He looked the image of Robert, but his quiet and careful nature wasn't much like Robert at all. “Fighting,” Jaime said, “that's what Robert Baratheon loved most. He was much better winning the throne than he ever was sitting it.”

Gendry nodded. 

“You fight with a sword?” Jaime watched the sword practice continue before them. 

“A war hammer.” Gendry placed his broad hands on his knees. 

Jaime scoffed. “Appropriate.” He remembered once being fearful of what wrath Robert's own war hammer might cause if the king ever found out about his children. 

“So I've heard.” 

“I hear you mean to work dragonglass into steel.” Jaime turned to consider the blacksmith. Hard to tell without seeing the man's work how good he was at his trade. 

Gendry nodded. “So is the thinking. Ser Davos wishes you to take a few with you when you go to survey the Wall.”

Jaime nodded. “I heard.” If it worked it would be a boon, another way to fight the Others. 

“Hopefully it will work.” Gendry gave a tight smile. Perhaps he was correct and he was more use to them in a forge than on the battlefield. If he could fashion such weapons it would be a waste even with his strength to lose him in a battle. 

Jaime slid his eyes to the blacksmith bastard and tilted his head. “And Arya Stark? What is she to you?” Was the boy fucking her? Little murderous Arya, was she capable of loving a man, even one plain and honest as Robert's bastard seemed to be?

Gendry swallowed and pinched his lips. “A friend. We traveled together once.”

Jaime kept the smile from his lips. Yes, the young man certainly had feelings for Arya, and had likely done something with her if not fucked. Interesting tidbit to remember for later. 

“How do you know Lady Brienne?” Gendry nodded his head to the side to the large woman in the practice yard, his eyes not leaving Jaime's face. The young man had spent time in King's Landing, and learned a bit of how to play the game even if he was only a blacksmith. 

Jaime did smile now, pinched his lips and nodded. He didn't answer, instead said, “She would be a good one to practice that war hammer of yours with. She might even prove stronger than you.” He smirked. Gendry turned to watch Brienne for a moment and then laughed, it was short lived but reminded Jaime of King Robert's booming laughter. 

“Arya doesn't like you,” Gendry said.

“Many people don't like me.” Jaime shrugged. 

Gendry paused and watched for a moment more. Then with a nod of his head, a quick 'm'lord' he stood and went back to his forge. 

Jaime finished sharpening his sword. Brienne moved like grace and beauty with a sword in her hand. He loved to see her like that, confident and sure. Why would he ever want to take that from her. He did not frown about their fight last night. Time, hopefully that was all she needed. The world was changing and why must she be the wife her septa long ago had trained her to be? He certainly didn't want her to be that, if only she'd actually listen and believe. 

Brienne paused for a moment. Steam rose off her as her breath puffed before her red and sweaty face. She'd think she looked ugly, even if he told her she never could look ugly to him. Her eyes caught his and she stood still, staring across the yard at him. Jaime gave her a small smile. Brienne paused before she returned it with one of her own. Then, she was called back into another melee, her instructions clear and precise. She was a good teacher, patient and kind, yet firm in what she expected from her students. 

Jaime finally finished with his sword and re-sheathed it. He paused at the blacksmith quarters to return the wetting stone. 

“Back to lordly duties?” Gendry asked, paused with his hammer in hand, blazing red steel before him. 

“Back to lord commanderly duties.” Jaime tipped his head and traveled back inside towards the Lannister parts of the keep. 

#

Jaime should have returned to Brienne's quarters tonight, made a show that he wasn't upset. But, truth was he was a bit upset and he didn't feel like faking that he wasn't. Somehow the thought of fucking her when he may always be only her lover and never husband rankled him, tonight at least. 

They'd had a few warmer days, as winters in the North went. Worse was sure to come. Daylight lasted only hours and grew shorter. Ice held and kept under the cover of snow. A new storm was sure to come up any day. Was it odd that Jaime could almost smell it in the chill air?

He had heard about the heated pools in the godswood on his first trip to Winterfell. Then, the thought of getting naked in the chill of even summer in the north had almost sent Jaime laughing. They would be back headed north, towards the Others and trouble in only days, and him a man with only one hand and a middling swordsman at best. Brienne was true, they did not know there would be a future for either of them beyond this. Tonight, he meant to check out these heated pools, at least the once before he might finally meet his end. 

Jaime placed the lantern he'd brought beside the pool. He stripped down bare. He had left his gold hand back in his room. The godswood lay covered in snow, icicles hung from bare branches, steam rose from the pool before him. His skin pimpled at the cold and quickly he took to shivering. He slid into the pool and its surprising warmth, better than a summer beach at Casterly Rock. 

Jaime sat in the warm water surrounded by snow and ice and winter. He leaned back his head. It was absurd, the mixture of warm and cold. Insane enough he threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing in the empty night of the godswood. 

A rustling across the pool drew his attention. Below the steam Jaime could see the water lapping from movement. Dark eyes in a pale face rose above the water across the pool. Her dark hair hung wet to her head, but there was no mistaking the shadowed face of Arya Stark. He had brought no steel with him, so no reason to not just face her and seem confident she didn't wish him dead tonight. 

For a time they just stared at each other. He had seen no other light but his own lantern. Had the girl come here by the light of the moon alone? Not that he could not see her doing such, Arya seemed to prefer shadows and dark. 

“Evening, Lady Arya.” Jaime's voice held southern formality, and he even gave a slight bow of his head, despite the fact they both sat bare as their name day's in steaming water in the middle of a dark snowy night. 

Arya gave a snort and pushed off towards the center of the pool. Jaime himself sat upon a rock placed just right to make a seat that allowed him to sit almost neck deep in the water. He wondered how deep the pool was, if a man could swim in the center. Arya seemed to swim for only a moment before gliding to a seat off to his left. He angled his head to her, yet made sure to not move the rest of his body. 

“Jon says you met with Bran at the Wall.” She sat turned fully to him, her eyes glaring. She must have sat upon a higher rock because less of the water covered her and even in the dim light Jaime could see the tops of her small breasts. As usual, she had no fear of him. Jaime managed to quiet his fears as well. He was larger, stronger and even if one-handed he knew himself still a deadly man even without steal. 

“Yes,” he gave as his only reply. Afterwards Snow had asked no details of Jaime, perhaps later he had gotten some from Bran himself. 

Jaime finally turned to stare into Arya's dark eyes. He had apologized to Bran, and it was likely what she wanted, or wanted to know, but Jaime couldn't make himself word such. 

She spoke and Jaime expected anger, expected her to give him silly demands, instead she softly said, “I knew your father.” Jaime cocked his head and knew his confusion showed. “At Harrenhal,” Arya continued, “I was his personal servant for a time.”

Jaime furrowed his brow. His father wanted both Stark girls and was certainly upset with Cersei for having lost Arya in the confusion when the Stark household and forces had been killed in the Red Keep. “How?” he finally managed. 

“He had never met me.” Arya smirked. “He assumed I was the daughter of a lesser lord, perhaps even one of the North, but...” She shrugged a slim shoulder. 

She tended to be plain in her clothing, simple with her hair, nothing like a lady even now. He imagined her in the middle of war, perhaps having escaped and hidden as a commoner. Tywin had possessed Arya Stark and having never seen her before had never known what he held. Jaime tipped his head back and let out a long, loud laugh. 

Arya tilted her head. Jaime finally stopped laughing. “So you know first hand he was a scrupulous asshole.” Tywin and his schemes, yet he had never foreseen what mess his ruthlessness would leave Jaime to now repair. 

Arya nodded and shrugged again. “Yes.” He had heard Arya had been on the outskirts of the slaughter at the Twins following the Red Wedding. She had seen first hand the lengths the man would go to win. “He was a brilliant man though, Tywin Lannister.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. Oh, he knew that well too, how the man would keep all the pieces in his mind, all the plays he could make, what ripples they might affect. “Yes, although Tyrion is as brilliant and he has a heart.” Or at least his brother had last he'd seen him. 

“He told me about your grandfather Tytos and how he'd ruined your house,” Arya continued. “He even talked of you once and your troubles reading.”

Jaime frowned at that. A personal issue he'd rather not have Arya Stark knowing. Tywin Lannister had not been one to make such small talk, especially with help. Younger Arya had clearly impressed his father. Jaime cocked his head and couldn't quite see why that might have been. 

“He did care about you,” she said. 

Jaime shook his head and scoffed. “Tywin cared about no one, except perhaps my mother.” Ned Stark might have be a right honorable fool, but he seemed to have actually loved his children and showed them this. Jaime shifted closer to her, only an arms length away now. 

“The Starks were killed by the Lannisters and their allies the Freys and Boltons,” Jaime said. “Yet, the Lannisters killed each other.” He smirked. “The great Tywin Lannister was killed with a crossbow in the privy. It wasn't some great enemy who took him out, but his own sons. I who freed my brother from a cell, and he who finally killed the man who'd hated him from his birth.”

Arya narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. Jaime leaned forward, his voice soft in the cold night. “That was his own weakness, he never cared enough to see even his own children as people. People with their own desires and needs and lives. To him we were always just pawns to play like all the rest, and it was his undoing.” Tywin had not believed his elder son so desired love that he had a lifetime affair with his sister, that his daughter would risk his legacy by letting her brother put children on her, that his hatred of his younger son for being such an echo of himself would be his end. 

“And so the son becomes smarter than the father,” Arya said. “Tywin asked once how my father died.” She pinched her lips, fore it had been his son who had ordered her father's death, his dear sister who had played the game to bring about Ned Stark's betrayal. “I told him honor killed my father, and it had hadn't it?”

Ned, an honorable man, too honorable for the rats nest that King's Landing had always been. Jaime narrowed his eyes. “And you're not an honorable woman.” Jon Snow was honorable. Sansa often was as well. But, little Arya? A person who killed in the dark of night, who baked a pie of of Walder Frey's own sons to serve him, was not a person of honor. 

Arya smirked and nodded. “And you're not a man blinded to the desires of others.”

He thought about Cersei and the many years he had been willingly blind to her true desires. “Not any more.”

“Jon said Bran forgave you.” Arya frowned. 

Jaime shrugged. “Stupid, but it appears he has.” He thought about young Bran and his faith in fate. 

Arya let out a deep sigh that puffed and mingled with the steam rising from the pool. “He's gone to us, Bran, even if he still lives.” There was a deep sadness to her voice. 

Jaime found himself frowning as well. He nodded. “Yes.” Whatever fate and the future had in store for Bran it would never bring him home to Winterfell and family. She looked so sad and broken and Jaime's heart sunk at at the part he'd played in her sadness. Both of their families were in ruins and they struggled with how to carry them into future, hoped any of them had a future. 

“Don't stay out too long, Kingslayer.” Ayra pushed back off and swam back to the side of the pool she'd been in when he arrived. “And that trip back to the keep's gonna be a cold one.” She smirked at him and let out a laugh. Then she rose out of the water, her skin pale in the moonlight. Her petite body held slight womanly curves, which she made no motion to hide from his gaze, bold and fearless of him as always. A scattering of knife wounds covered her slim abdomen and he wondered how she had survived such an attack, what horrors had befallen little Arya across the sea. 

Their eyes met once more as Arya shrugged into a thick fur cloak. Neither said a word, and then with a whisper she was gone, quick steps taking her back to the warmth inside the wall of Winterfell. 

Jaime sunk a bit into the water. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes. He missed his father sometimes, despite everything his father had never given him. Some days he wished for his father's council if only to do exactly the opposite. Not that he had been any better of a father to his own children. 

He stayed at the pool for awhile longer. The pool was deep in the center, going down farther than he had the skills one-handed to discover. Finally he reluctantly left the warmth of the water for the icy night. He bustled back after to Winterfell's walls wearing only boots and cloak, his clothing bundled in his arms. It took awhile to warm himself by the blazing fire in his room. He watched the flames dance and tried not to think about the Mad King from long ago, a silent throne room as the elder Brandon Stark and his father burned alive. 

Jaime almost went to Brienne, almost slipped into her bed and pulled her into his arms so sleep would come easily. Yet, he did not. It must have been halfway to morning even if such would bring no true dawn. Instead, he slid into his bed alone and stared at the ceiling. He willed his mind to emptiness over the jumble of his father, sister, brother, the Starks, winter, the Others and, of course, Brienne that danced inside instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved Arya and Tywin in the show. They had such an interesting dynamic and I always think Jaime'd get a kick out of the fact that Arya had insight into Tywin. 
> 
> Back to more J/B growing romance or at least fumbling relationship next few chapters.


	25. Blundering On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne after taking time apart find themselves at least back together in part. Plans are made to meet with Queen Daenerys.

Brienne had not seen Jaime after dinner the night before. He had been missing from the dining hall for breakfast as well. She had not actually talked to him since the night he left her quarters. He had said that he wasn't angry, yet she wondered about the truth of his words. 

At least there was plenty to ready and busy herself with. Jon had put her in charge of the same men she'd traveled with before when she took Lady Lyanna back to Bear Island. Brienne crossed the courtyard to the stables. It was almost midday, but the light barely peeked through the thick clouds overhead. The Long Night Tormund and the wildlings spoke of might be upon them sooner than they thought. Snow had returned, already inches deep in the once cleared courtyard. They might be facing a great deal more on their trek farther north. She was not certain if she had gotten used to the cold, but at least the chill did not cut so deeply anymore. 

Brienne entered the stable and then paused. Jaime stood there with one of his captains. The man listed supplies as they got packed away in saddle bags, while Jaime ticked them off a list he'd laid upon a tall table full of shoeing tools. Salt pork, tack, spices, bread, cheese, and other such things were read off. It had been decided that they would take only pack horses loaded with the needed supplies since they would be traveling off road through rugged terrain. 

Jaime gave her a small smile. She wanted to ask where he had been last night and this morning, but found herself unable to do so. 

“Captain Westerling, why don't you see to the shoeing of the horses?” Jaime gestured with his gold hand to deeper into the stables where a hammer rang out against iron doing just that. “Lady Brienne can help me with this.” 

The captain dipped his head. “Yes, Lord Commander.” 

Brienne tilted her head and stared at Jaime. He looked no different, and acted no different. Finally, he sighed and waved his hand to start her to work. For a time they continued with the task with no further talk, her placing in supplies and Jaime checking things off his list. 

“I checked out the heated pools last night,” Jaime said. 

Brienne raised an eyebrow. Not an excuse for why he did not come to her, yet he was telling her where he had been. “And?” 

“Oddly nice.” Jaime tugged his lips into a half smile. “Although ice cold on the walk back.” 

Brienne tried not to think about their shared bath long ago at Harrenhal. Even when they had been apart, he and those shared experiences had been such a big part of her. 

“I am sorry if I upset you.” Her voice did not sound so steady to her ears. It took all her will to keep her chin from wobbling. She would not be a silly maiden over this. 

“I know you are.” Jaime sighed and placed his list down to awkwardly load the next supplies into bags himself before checking them off the list. “Maybe I am just being silly when danger lays all around us.” He shrugged a shoulder. 

“We might be riding to our doom,” Brienne said with a quiet voice. Would they get back south to Winerfell before the war really began?

“Hopefully not.” Jaime scoffed. “I wanted to get in a proper battle before dying.”

Brienne pinched her lips together and muffled a laugh. “Gods willing neither of us will be dying.” Although there was no guarantee about such. Who knew what the future held, why they should enjoy what they had now. She did not mention this again, just as he had not mentioned again wanting to marry her. 

Jaime frowned. “Hopefully.” They stood there, apart but looking at each other for a spell before he gestured with his gold hand. “Pickled eggs?” 

Brienne turned to a series of jars full of the things. Not at all her favorite. She dipped her head, loaded a jar in each of the bags, then said, “Pickled eggs packed for good or ill.”

“If they keep me from starving later, I'll call it good.” He gave a small smile. His words had been in jest, yet she knew enough to know that Jaime knew what it was to go hungry, knew what limits such might push him to. She shrugged off the thought and instead returned his jest with a small smile of her own. 

#

It wasn't until after a long day of preparations and they gathered at the head table with King Jon that word of a raven from the south came up. Jaime was visibly upset that people had not been told about it earlier. Outside wind whipped into the cracks of the keep and snow fell thick and heavy while the warmed walls made the room bearable. 

“Well,” Jaime said, “what was the word from the Dragon Queen?”

“She wants to treat with us,” Davos answered. 

“Is the north at war with Queen Daenerys?” Brienne tilted her head. It was a fair question as neither side had actually gone to battle with each other. 

“Well, she's at war with the realm.” Jon frowned. If there had been terms Brienne was uncertain Jon would share them. 

“Then, good you ain't part of the realm.” Bronn smirked as he reached for some black bread on the table. 

“What are her terms?” Jaime leaned back, cocked his head and took a sip of his ale. 

“She did not specifically mention them in the message.” Davos pinched together his lips. 

“She coming north?” Jaime narrowed his eyes. 

Jon nodded, but it was Ser Davos who answered, “She's asked to meet at Moat Cailin.”

Brienne knew such should be a defensible position if Jon were to met with the Dragon Queen there. One almost had to pass on the King's Road through much of the neck and Jon would have the aid of the Crannogmen in the marshes to help if the Dragon Queen did try to move further north with her army. 

“We could send an envoy south to meet them there.” Littlefinger tilted his head and gave a tight smile. 

“We?” Jon cocked his head. 

“Or send an army and escort her back to Winterfell to treat.” Jaime smirked at Littlefinger. 

“Would that not seem like capturing her?” Littlefinger almost tisked. 

“She would bring her own guard, even my brother if she wants.” There was a gleam in Jaime's eyes like maybe he was poking at Lord Baelish merely to rile him. 

“Mind there isn't an army to spare to meet her.” Davos tilted his head and pinched his lips. “Is there?”

Brienne wondered if perhaps Baelish would offer his army, not that Jon would allow such. “You should ask something in trust to allow her to bring her full army to Moat Cailin, should you not?” The keep was defensive, but little manned right now and likely not capable of holding off the siege by a full army. 

“A good point.” Davos nodded. 

“Nothing is to be decided tonight.” Jon frowned and sipped his ale. 

“Know what you're willing to give up and not to get her army and her dragons in this fight.” Jaime narrowed his eyes at Jon. Was the King in the North willing to give up his crown, the sovereignty the north had sought under Robb? Brienne knew Jon cared nothing for the first, but the second might be another matter. Was it worth a marriage to the Queen if she asked? Jaime was correct, Jon needed to know going in what mattered most to him. 

Jon took a big gulp of his ale and nodded. “Yes.” He frowned, even grim as if the world rested on his shoulders. 

Brienne glanced at Jaime. If the Dragon Queen came here might be also ask to treat with Jaime over the Westerlands. Did Jaime himself know what he would and would not be willing to part with to avoid further war with Queen Daenerys? 

The rest of dinner passed with normal chatter. They discussed defenses, shipments from Lannisport and White Harbor, new recruits and their training and most importantly readying for the survey missions to the Wall to leave in the next few days. 

Brienne wished to but did not stop Jaime after dinner. He left with Bronn, headed in the opposite direction of their quarters. She gave him a frown when he glanced over his shoulder at her, but neither spoke. Bronn raised an eyebrow and said nothing either. Then Jaime was gone, bundled up in his thick red cloak and off to the cold, perhaps to Wintertown, perhaps to check something with their troops, perhaps just to talk. 

She returned to her own quarters near Sansa's. Outside the wind howled and fury of tiny flakes pelted the window. She missed Jaime. If he returned to share her bed but insisted they marry could she manage that? Was having him back worth the embarrassment she felt she'd give him, more importantly the freedom marriage would take away from her? Part of her felt like standing steady and stubborn that she did not wish marriage and would never accept such. Another part just wanted the man she loved back in her arms. 

Brienne threw extra logs on the fire, determined to be warm tonight as soon enough she'd be out in the cold again. She blew out all but one candle and sat in the dark watching winter pound at Winterfell. 

#

Brienne knew she would be early to the morning meeting King Jon had called in his solar. She had gotten done with her morning practice early and saw no reason to not just go on to the meeting and get it over before the rest of her tasks for the day. 

She paused in the doorway when she noticed the room held only Jaime. He leaned down on the table his attention on the maps spread upon the smooth white weirwood surface. Jaime glanced up and raised an eyebrow at her before turning back to the maps. Brienne swallowed. When had this become so awkward? It was almost as bad as it had been after Tormund, except as far as she could tell she and Jaime were still together in whatever sense they had been before. 

Shoving down her anxious thoughts she strolled into the door and stood behind Jaime. He had a map of the Seven Realms spread out before him, the kingdoms all painted different shades, cities and keeps marked with sigils. Brienne stepped closer, crossed her arms and tilted her head. Jaime did not move or speak. 

“What are you doing?” she finally asked. 

“Thinking?” He didn't move. 

“About?” Brienne pinched her lips. She noticed Tarth off the east coast in the gray color the Stormlands had been painted. Casterly Rock was north of it and on the opposite coast in the light red for Lannister, the golden lion dancing in the rippled waves off the shore. 

“Everything,” Jaime finally answered. He stood up and they were close enough for their shoulders to touch. He glanced over at her and raised his eyebrow again. “Too many pawns, too many possibilities.” He sighed, scrunched up his face. “Not sure even Tywin could have found a good way out of it.”

Brienne remained silent, because would Tywin Lannister have ever sided with the North and their cause over Casterly Rock and his supposed legacy. 

“Heard Snow was going to be delayed by the way,” Jaime said, his attention back on the map. “Something about a disagreement between the wildling force who just arrived and locals in Wintertown.” The wildling force was mostly there to boast their numbers defending Winterfell when they departed, although some were to run fresh supplies back up to the Gift and the Wall. 

Brienne glanced at the empty door and almost frowned. When she turned back to Jaime he'd turned. He stood sideways to her, leaning on his gold hand, head cocked. 

She tilted her head and pinched her lips. “What?” She was the one who had asked for time, although he had been the one seemingly needing to take that time apart. She was trying to honor the distance he'd taken. Brienne found her breath speeding up, her heart racing under his steady gaze. 

Jaime furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Gods... woman....” He swallowed. 

Brienne almost took a step back, away from the intensity of his eyes on her. Before she could, he closed the distance between them, his arms around her, his lips searing on her own. Brienne let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and it was swallowed up in their joined mouths and dueling tongues. 

She wore only her plated jerkin and him his black leather one. Not bare skin, but still she could feel the heat coming off him as their bodies melted together. She's miss this, him. Hopefully this would led to them bedding tonight, even if they did not truly share a bed. His hand clenched at her waist, gripped her ass and tugged her hips towards his own and his hardness sandwiched between them. Jaime trailed kisses and licks down her neck as Brienne fisted a hand in his hair. Wetness spread between her legs. 

Jaime pulled away enough to glance over her shoulder. Brienne turned to see where he looked. She swallowed hard when she noticed the open doorway. She blushed at the thought of someone appearing and catching them so entangled. Jaime leaned back further and smirked, a gleam in his blue-green eyes. Brienne cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her heart pounded in her chest. 

Then, Jaime turned her around, her back flush against his chest. His lips sucked on her neck just below the collar of her jerkin. His cock pressed hard against her ass. His hand glided down her jerkin and his fingers fumbled with the laces of her pants and tugged them down her hips. Brienne frowned and looked over her shoulder at him. He smirked again and used his gold hand to press her chest against the table. She felt his hand behind her, heard his laces loosening. Her breath puffed hot against the smooth map on the table. Her eyes flicked to the open doorway. 

Brienne looked up over her shoulder at Jaime above her, his eyes dilated with lust, a flush covering his handsome cheekbones. She felt his cock at her entrance, then with one thrust he entered her. Jaime set a furious pace. His real and gold hands on her hips. His fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises. 

A moan escaped her lips and Jaime hissed down, “Quiet.” His eyes on the open door. 

Brienne couldn't help but look herself, wonder how long Jon's delay would hold him. She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her moans and groans. Above her Jaime was near silent save his harsh breathing. The table creaked beneath her as Jaime pounded her against it. 

Gods it felt good, raw and needy, full of all how much she had missed him the last few days. Her inner muscles clenched around his hard cock as it rammed into her mercilessly. When she glanced over her shoulder she could see how gone Jaime was even with his silence. His head thrown back, his jaw clenched. 

Footsteps and voices echoed down the hallway. Brienne stared at the open door. Her heart sped up, a blush spread over her cheeks. What if someone caught them like that? She felt her blush spread. 

“By the Seven, be close Brienne,” Jaime said through clenched teeth. 

The voices grew louder, Jon and perhaps Davos from the sounds of it, but the footfall had paused. Brienne worked her free hand to between her own legs. She rubbed with a fury at her nub. Her felt herself cresting. She clamped her hand tighter to her mouth to hold in the scream she wanted to give. As her release overcame her a small part of her brain realized the thrill of getting caught had added to her pleasure. 

Above her Jaime thrust once more, held her hips tight against him and spilled deep inside her. Brienne slumped boneless against the table and maps. She sucked in breath. The footfall began again. She couldn't be found this way, just fucked, pants still down. Jaime righted himself beside her and then straightened the maps on the table. She stood and did back up her pants, finishing with her laces just as Jon, Davos and Tormund walked into the solar. 

They were frowning and it took Brienne a moment to realize that was likely because of the problems that had delayed them. It had nothing to do with her and Jaime. Her heart still pounded, her weak knees barely held her and she hoped a blush didn't cover her face. Jaime's seed leaked from between her legs into her wet small clothes. She spared Jaime a look. He looked calm, collected, gorgeous and no different than any other time. 

“Those aren't good looks,” Jaime said to Jon, Davos and Tormund as they gathered around the table. He gave a light chuckle. How did he make it so easy to look as though nothing had just happened? Her stomach tightened when she thought of how he had gained the experience to do just as he did now. His gaze flickered to hers for a moment and she couldn't quite read the emotion in them, sadness perhaps. 

Oddly Bronn and Arya followed Jon. Brienne found herself raising an eyebrow and wondering if it was just a coincidence. Sansa and Littlefinger entered together sharing whispers. Brienne made herself not frown at that. She'd been away again, leaving Sansa again alone with Littlefinger. 

Jon cleared his throat and they began their discussion on what to do with the Dragon Queen and her request. Brienne knew she was not a northerner. She was not sworn to house Stark. This was not truly her home. So, she listened more than she gave any clear advice. Did they send an envoy south to Moat Cailin, then with whom? Brienne knew that she, Jaime and Tormund at the least had all been planned to go north to the Wall. Jon was going to go with them. They could certainly use his sword and leadership. Yet, now he would it seem be treating with the Dragon Queen instead. 

Brienne expected Jaime to perhaps ask to stay and meet with the Dragon Queen as well, to aid as one of Jon's councilors. Yet, Jaime did not do this. Was that so they would not be parted before? Or did Jaime just not yet ready to face the Dragon Queen himself? 

As the council broke apart, everyone headed off to tasks so they could leave tomorrow for the north no matter the amount of snow that might be falling. As Jon was not going to the Wall, Brienne had been given more of the Stark and Northern troops to command, near half of them at this point. It would be a busy day for her. She had little time but to give Jaime a glance as they parted. He returned a slight smirk, dipped his head and almost caused a blush to spread upon her cheeks.


End file.
